


Tomie: Echo

by LucasGRivers



Category: Junji Ito, Tomie - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cheating, Death, F/M, Gore, Horror, Junji Ito - Freeform, Mind Control, Murder, Rape, Sexual Assault, Suicide, Supernatural Elements, Torture, Underage Rape/Non-con, tomie - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucasGRivers/pseuds/LucasGRivers
Summary: The police find a young Tomie Kawakami walking a country highway with no memories or past. Shes placed in an orphanage where a billionaire and his wife adopt her. Tomie’s excited to begin her new life of leisure until a woman claiming to be her older sister appears and threatens to ruin everything.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Birth

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains graphic depictions of violence, murder, gore, and rape. This includes sexual violence/rape directed at a minor. Please don't read if you are sensitive to these topics. To avoid spoilers I will not be putting warnings on individual chapters so let this serve as your first and only warning.

My naked flesh slides across the mud as I claw my way up the river bank. A corpse’s disemboweled torso spills organs around the sand at the water’s edge. The moon reflects off the Black Springs River. A sulfur stench rises from the surrounding marsh flats. The tree canopies blanket the forest in an impenetrable blackness. The night sings the cricket’s symphony.

My name’s Tomie Kawakami. I have no personal memories preceding my climb up the river edge yet my mind feels sophisticated. My spindly legs, diminutive frame and flat chest say I’m not more than seven or eight. A normal child would cry for her mother or father but I don’t feel anything. Terror, vulnerability, fear, concern, confusion; the pantheon of emotions from being lost in the woods doesn’t exist, instead a great emptiness.

I follow the river bank, slowly groping from tree to tree. A distant rumble of rubber on asphalt. A yellow light grows larger as it crosses a concrete bridge hovering over the river. I follow the river bank to the road, then take it over the bridge. The country highway has no sidewalks, so I walk along the shoulder. Small red spots trail behind my steps. My bare feet ache, the rock covered soil cuts holes into the tender bottoms. The road illuminates ahead of me from headlights behind. A car stops then a door opens.

“Miss, are you OK,” called out a Man. The lights blind me when I turn around, the man unseeable behind the headlights.

“Who’s there,” I asked, holding my hands to block my eyes. The lights turn off, a man’s silhouette appears behind the door.

“Dispatch, there’s a naked kid walking down Highway 61,” said the man.

~~~~~~~~~

The adult T-shirt fit like a night gown and stunk like body odor. An empty granola bar wrapper and soda can sit on the end table by my chair. Blocks and dolls sit at my feet but I just watch the police officer at its desk. The large man with a scowling face writes vigorously on a paper stack before moving the top sheet into a tray. A faint, indiscernible murmur comes from it’s mind. I concentrate but can’t make anything out. A knock at the door then the man who found me walks in, its hat tucked under its arm.

“How’s she doing sarge,” asked the man. It looks at me with a smile. _Where the fuck is Barbara, I want to go home,_ whispers out of its mind. Its stream quiets down to a murmur.

“Poor thing doesn’t seem too interested in toys,” said the Sargent. “If Barbara doesn’t get here soon then we might have to take her to Jefferson Memorial for stitches. Can you check her foot?”

The man at the desk throws a gauze roll to the officer as it walks over. Some clumsy oaf wrapped half a roll of gauze around my foot shortly after I arrived. It kneels then lifts my wrapped foot onto its knee.

“This might hurt a little bit and I’m sorry if it does,” said the man. It unwraps several gauze layers then drops it on the floor. “Sarg, come look at this,” it said staring at my heal. The big man stands and lumbers over, squatting to seemy foot.

“Holy Cow,” said the man. Curious at the fuss, I pull my foot from its loose grip. The heel’s a little dirty but otherwise everything seems normal. “It’s OK, sweetie, everything’s fine. It’s just, the cut’s gone.”

A woman in its late twenties carrying a plastic bag walks into the office. Nothing at all comes out of its mind, not even unintelligible chatter.

“You’re late,” said the Sargent.

“You try to find a store that sells girls clothing at 2am. I had to drive all the way to Phosphate City and bought it with my own money, mind you. Need I remind you that I work for the county’s division of Health and Human Services, not you, and I have no obligation to be here off hours.” The man’s visible anger and discomfort at the scolding feed me in a way the granola bar and soda never could. The woman takes my hand and practically pulls me off the chair.

Giant strides barely keep up as it drags me through lobby. One police officer types into a computer at a desk with a haggard man in handcuffs. The scarecrow bares a green and black rotten smile as we pass.

_Come to daddy, little girl_ screams out of its mind. The words hit me like a jackhammer. I hide to the lady’s side as though its body could shield me from the intensity. The lady notices the pervert.

“Officer,” it yells. The startled man looks away from its keyboard to the prisoner staring at me.

“Hey, over here buddy,” said the officer and the man turns away.

We enter a windowless room about the size of a walk in closet with a desk and two chairs. It hands me the bag and I dress.

“Tomie, honey, can you stand against the wall,” it asked taking a picture with a Polaroid camera when I comply. “Do you know where your parents are, Tomie?”

“I don’t have parent,” I said to the woman shaking the picture.

“Tomie, honey, everyone has parents. Do you know your parents,” said the woman. I cry, a sure fire way to shut adults up. The woman hugs me. “It’s ok honey, we don’t have to talk about this right now.” The woman looks at the picture, then back to me. “Something went wrong, we have to do it again.” The woman puts the picture on the table: A little girl stands against the wall, everything seems fine except for the distorted twisted mass like a screaming face coming off the side of its head.


	2. Jackson Broward School for Girls

A tacky inspirational poster behind Headmistress Austin’s desk reads “Modern Women Get Things Done.” The severe head mistress withits basic black dress and abysmal fashion sense more closelyresembles a 19th century schoolmarm. I sit up straight with my legs crossed and hands folded over my uniform’s pleated skirt. The thick, angular gray sweater gives me a ruler figure.

“Ms Kawakami, at Jackson Broward we believe in giving our girls an equal say in selecting a family. We feel it’s vital to insure a good fit and natural transition. There comes a point in time when the best policies can become bad policies. Did you know that some girls come here at birth and graduate without a single offer?”

“Yes, Head Mistress,” I said. Girls inferior to me exist, all in fact.

“Then you must know how unusual it is for a girl to receive forty three offers over four years and how unheard of it is to turn them all down? Tomie, you’re twelve years old, maybe even thirteen. You’re old enough, and certainly mature enough, to know the truth of it. Most parent’s don’t want teenagers. You’re leaving your prime adoption age and if you don’t stop being so picky then I’ll have no choice but to forgo your input on the matter.”

“Yes head mistress, I will try to be less picky,” I said. No, I won’t.

“Good, I think you’ll adore the next prospects. They have a life long love of learning and will allow you to indulge that worldliness you’re always trying to cultivate.” Headmistress Austin opens the door and a young couple enters the room. The man wears a threadbare suit with elbow patches. The woman wears a rag,probably the best dress the local thrift store had to offer.

“Hi, Tomie, I’m Jeremiah Flatt, this is my wife Emily. We didn’t see your picture on the website but we were blessed to find you in the cafeteria. We said to ourselves, there’s a pretty little girl who looks wrapped in thought, didn’t we dear.” The man’s mind is quiet, only the faintest of hums. I turn up the volume and can’t make out words.

“That’s right, dear, very contemplative. We hear you’re testing at a post graduate level. Do you like to read,” asked the woman in the hideous moth eaten rag.

“Not in particular,” I said. The headmistress can’t know every student, but if it thinks this couple’s a match, then it doesn’t know me at all.

“Maybe you just need to find the right book,” said the man too poor to afford a decent suit.

“What do you do for a living, Mr Flatt,” I asked. The headmistress looks like it sat on a tack.

“I am a pastor and Mrs Flatt is an organist and part time librarian,” said the man with no chance of adopting me.

~~~~~~~~~

The cafeteria worker with its abyssal hygiene and vacant eyes stares at me from a glass enclosed buffet. Watery scrambled eggs sit next to the greasiest under cooked bacon I’ve ever seen. The line behind me grows restless; sour faced children too ugly for adoption murmur their discontent.

“Miss, what can I get for you,” asked the black haired troll behind the counter.

“Breakfast for lunch,” I asked. I’ve made my displeasure with the inedible food known to the staff but they continue to not improve.

“We had extra so the boss wanted to use it up,” offered up the stout hag.

“Would it kill you to have some Foie Gras or caviar once in a while,” I reasonably asked. The troll let out a noise too hideous to be a laugh.

“Caviar, like with those little metal forks,” said the troll. I couldn’t help but scoff.

“Everyone knows you serve Caviar with whale bone,” I graciously corrected.

“Hey Myrtle, we got room in the budget for Caviar,” shouted the woman who’s wider than tall. A woman with a cigarette dangling from its lips sticks its head through the serving window. Its netless hair must be dropping into the food.

“Isn’t that shit like $50 a serving,” asked the chimney, ash falling from the cigarette it didn’t bother taking out of its mouth.

“Hurry up,” yelled an unseen voice from the great unwashed masses.

“What’ll it be dear,” ventured the troll.

“Just toast with jelly,” I said. The troll piles a soggy bread mountain on a styrofoam plate with small plastic tubs.

My window seat in the corner overlooks the main gate to the west and treeline to the east. A fence runs the property perimeter, through the woods and around the Black Springs River. Barbed wire bundles face towards the building. Maybe they wouldn’t have to worry about children escaping so much if they served decent food. A chair behind me scrapes on the floor, a little girl with black strait hair and the most deplorable odor sits.

“Hey Tomie, you watch the new episode of Pokemon,” said the stench. It seems to think we’re friends, as if.

“No, I don’t watch that childish drivel,” I said.

The headmistress walks with a tall muscular man with a square jaw and handsome smile. A passably attractive Asian woman hangs off its arm. The woman must be almost six feet tall. The mans thoughts are semi-readable if I concentrate and focus on its mind: _Murmur Murmur Pretty murmur Rin murmur…_

~~~~~~~~~

“It seems my warning for you and the Flatt’s went unheeded, Ms Kawakami,” said the scowling schoolmarm from its IKEA particle board garbage. “I believe the next couple should be up to your exacting standards, and if not, tough shit.”

The headmistress opens the classroom door and the handsome man and his not unattractive wife stand at theentrance. The man ducks to clear the door frame into the room.

“Hello Tomie,” said the man. Tapping into its thoughts brings out nothing but noise. Maybe that’s for the best. One couple came in and the man’s thoughts were practically a bullhorn in my head. The things it fantasized about doing to me would make the devil blush. It practically bribed the headmistress to sell me to it but the administrator held firm. Fool, I would have done it in a second.

“Hi, sweetie,” said the woman who was probably a knock out twenty years ago.

“My name’s Baker Walton and Mrs Austin tells us the first thing you always ask people is what they do for a living. I’m the executive director in charge of mine operations at Phosco.” So far so good.

“I’m Rin Yamato-Walton and lead council for government affairs at Phosco. We were so pleased to find a little Japanese girl here. I hope you can find it in your heart to accept us as parents,” said the sentimental fool.

“Why don’t you have any kids of your own,” I asked.

“We waited too long, I guess we just lost track of time. When we were finally ready the doctors said we no longer could,” its words dripped with guilt. Rin seemed like it was going to cry.

“If you work so many hours who’s going to take care of Tomie,” broke in the headmistress. Not for the first time, I wished it would keep its stupid mouth shut.

“We’ve already hired a nanny,” said the woman.


	3. Home, Sweet Home

Hopefully Baker’s being modest by driving it’s own car. Rin stares out the passenger window. The precision luxury automobile floats over the cracked and poxed country lane. The superior sound proofing eliminates the outside world’s existence. My body sinks into the heated leather seats. Smooth jazz plays over the radio. Chilled Pellegrino cans sit in the center console’s built in fridge. This is the world I belong to.

Spanish moss hangs from ancient trees lining the property. Branches from meet in an arch over the road as though nature creates a dramatic tunnel to the property. The natural tunnel relents to a massive black caste iron gate. Baker pushes a button on the center console and the gate rolls open.

Orange trees line the road after the gate. A two story plantation manor comes into view as the orange trees disappear from the road side. Immaculately trimmed bushes interspersed with palm trees within a red cedar mulch bed lines a massive house long wrap around porch. White columns hold up a balcony overlooking the property entrance. Thick curtains hang inside the massive windows lining both stories.

Three Asian women stand at the porch entrance with their hands at their sides. A cook wearing a sunflower apron stands next to an elderly woman in a pants suit and another elderly woman in a plain black maid uniform.

The radio shuts off. Rin looks at me in the rearview mirror. “This is the old Eliot plantation. The Eliot's owned half of Black Springs in the 19th century before they lost it all to war taxes and looting.”

“It must be full of interesting history,” I said. Adults are so predictable, frame something as a learning experience and give them enough room to think they came up with the idea and they’ll give you whatever you want.

“Would you like a chance to go explore? You can after we get you settled,” said the household’s second prettiest woman.

“Yes, please,” I said to the putty in my hands.

“We’re here,” said Baker. His astute observational powers must be why they made it the boss. We exit the vehicle. “Come over here,” shouts Baker by the porch.

“This is Mrs Watanabe, our cook. She’s classically trained but can cook anything really. Her soul food is to die for,” said Baker

“Hello, Miss,” said the woman before taking a small bow. It forgot the “tress” but we’ll work on that.

“This is Mrs Tanaka, our maid. Just because we have a maid doesn’t mean you get to leave messes everywhere. Please make sure you clean up after yourself and keep your room in order,” said the man with unreasonable requests.

“Hello Miss,” said the woman before bowing.

“Mrs Saito’s your governess. She’ll be in charge of getting you up in the morning, making sure you get ready for school, driving you to school, etc. Please treat her like you would treat Rin and me,” said the man who doesn’t know what it’s asking for.

“Good Day,” said the woman. The lack of respect has been noted.

“Our Gardner, Mr Wantanabe, was unable to make it today but you’ll meet him in time.” Baker holds up a key fob and the Bentley’s trunk pops open. “Let me show you to your room, then you can go explore.”

The plain oak double front doors lead to a two sided grand staircase wrapped around a fountain under a giant crystal chandelier twinkling with electric lights. Closet doors sit under each staircase.

“The kitchen and the Wantanabe’s quarters are in the west wing. The living room, study and Mrs Saito’s quarters in the east wing. Our bedrooms, Rin’s office and a few empty spare rooms are upstairs,” said Baker as it vaults up the stairs with a speed I can’t hope to match and disappears to the left. Baker walks halfway down the hall by the time I make the upper landing then stops to open a door. Rin follows behind me.

“You’ll get used to it,” Rin said with a naive and stupid smile.

The room’s surprisingly plain for such a grand home. A strawberry red bedding covered mattress sits on a box spring with shams and frame. No foundation bed, sleigh bed or four poster, not even a headboard. A gray fake distressed desk sits in the corner with a tri-folding mirror. The open closet reveals a shelving system for storing clothes. Maybe my expectations were too high after all.

“What do you think,” said the hopeful woman.

“It’s more like a bedroom from a housing project than a mansion,” I gracefully let her down.

“I guess it’s a little plain,” said the dejected woman who seems not to notice me sparingits feelings.

“Before you go, I want you to have this,”said the man handing me a cell phone. “There’s a lot of property here and it’s easy to get lost. I’m in the phone as “Dad” and your mother’s under “Mom”.”

~~~~~~~~~

The paths behind the home lack the same effort to keep them clean. Weeds cover half the dirt trail while long grass blades and branches hang in the way of anyone walking. The dimwit who couldn’t bother to await my arrival can’t do anything right, apparently.

The path leads through overgrown woods cluttered with oak trees and pine needles to a field with chest high uncleared wheat stalks. Several rundown shacks line the field’s edge. Thick green moss carpets the roofs, to the extent they could be called roofs anymore. One house has completely caved into itself, the wall supports strew wood all over the ground. The first intact windowless building holds little inside. The only light comes from the open door. A heavy musty, mildewed odor burns my nose. A mold eaten blanket decomposing to soil sits on wood planks with ancient metal hitchesattached to rusted chains on the top and bottom.

~~~~~~~~~

Rin and Baker never struck me as the arguing at the breakfast table types. I figured they decide disagreements by seeing who could pucker their assholes tightest while sipping tea in silence. Yet raised voices carry through the dining room door and my curiosity’s overwhelming.

“I don’t want that creep anywhere near our daughter. Don’t think I don’t know what single men do when they vacation alone in Thailand,” said the woman.

“That creep is my brother and he wants to meet his new niece. Don’t forget he inherited half of the company too and he has more than enough friends in the board room to make life difficult for me,” said the man.

“And how much of that company has he smoked away in his crack pipe,” said Rin.

“Not enough for me to say no,” said Baker.

“But we don’t have a guest bedroom any more. We gave it to Mrs Saito when we hired her, can’t he stay in a hotel? They have some nice ones in Phosphate City,” said Rin.

“I can’t ask him to stay somewhere else when we have so much room here. I’ll make sure he gets nowhere near Tomie alone,” said Baker. This man must be a degenerate to get them so worked up.

“Ladies don't crouch behind doors like thieves to listen to private conversations. They make their presence known,” said the Governess.

~~~~~~~~~

Rin wants to take me herself, for what she styles Girl Time. Clothing shopping’s a bore, realistically I could wear a trash bag and be the most gorgeous girl anywhere I go but silly little women will have their silly little wishes and at times it’s best to give them what they want.

“I don’t want to go to the mall, there’s too many people there,” I said.

“We have to go, honey, you need some decent clothes for school next week. Plus, your Uncle Kenny’s coming over tonight so we need to get you something that isn’t your old school uniform,” said Rin.

“I don’t want the trite, tacky trash the mall has to offer. I would rather go to a nice boutique like Jaimeson’s,” I said. She looks over to me in the Bentley’s front seat as if its eyes could say you know about Jaimeson’s.

“Don’t you think that store is a little stuffy, and old and expensive,” said Rin.

“I would much rather wear a nice Cashmere Cardigan and Slacks,” I said.

“Cashmere cardigan, its over eighty degrees outside today. Be reasonable,” said the woman who walked into my trap.

“Fine, Mother, if you don’t think I’m worth it, then let’s just go to the mall and pick up a skimpy tank top and some ultra low rise jeans for me to wear around Uncle Kenny,” I said. Its face slumps as though I took ten years off its life. Rin punches a new address into the TomTom as we glides down the highway.

~~~~~~~~~

“Jesus Christ, Rin, what happened to not spoiling her,” asked Baker. The man stands on the porch as Mrs Saito pulls a mountain of white Jaimeson bags from the trunk.

“Excuse me, Help, put those in my room,” I said to Mrs Saito. The priceless scowl’s worth any scolding from the clueless patriarch.

~~~~~~~~~

A projector hanging from the exposed rafters in the vaulted ceilings projects a schlocky super hero movie onto a 120 inch retractable screen. An unaturally skinny man with white veneers for teeth stares at me. I curl up on the couch next to an over sized rainbow dragon plush; the man gave me this carnival-esque stuffed animal as a welcome home gift. He’s been staring the whole movie, his thoughts shooting at me with the intensity of flares.

_You’re so pretty,_ he thinks. Sending sex dungeons memories where little girls squirm tied to tables.

_Look away_ , I send to it and it looks away briefly before turning back. _Look away longer_ , I implant before activating a pain center in its brain. It winces then looks towards the movie. Its urges overtake it a few minutes later and it turns back. _Look Away_ , I push at it with all the force I can channel, this time activating the pleasure centers. It smiles watching the screen.

_The things I’ll do to you_ , it thinks. Visions of a girl crying, one screams as it breaks a small finger. Dripping hot wax. Choking. Pushing impulses to it does nothing, it just stares and smiles its fake veneers, filling my head with visions of torture and mutilation.

~~~~~~~~~

The matching silk pants and button down top feel like comfort woven into clothing. The deplorable salt filled microwave popcorn’sdried my delicate palate. The refrigerator has more buttons than a spaceship console but it doesn’t matter because the cabinets are too high to reach for a glass. The oversized kitchen feels cramped with the large granite counter tops, massive center island, six burner gas range stove, two microwaves, and double door fridge freezer combo that should be serving a small restaurant.

Uncle Kenny’s thoughts howl out of living room like a foul wind. Grotesque visions I wish I could block out. The massive right door lumbers open to reveal shelves overflowing with jars and bottles. The soda cans call to me but I hate the saccharine sweetness. Who do you have to murder in this place just to get water. The living room door creaks open, uncle Kenny’s thoughts hit me like a wave and I stagger into the cabinets.

The wicked monster with it’s crooked grin stands at the island’s head blocking my path to the stairs. The road into its mind leads to a wall of fiery impulses so strong I can’t penetrate. My mind burns like a hand on a hot pan trying to reach into it.

“Excuse me, I need to pass,” I said. The moron just stands there.

“No, you don’t,” said the monster. A vision of me crying, begging for my life flashes in its mind. I breath in deep to scream and it closes in. A hand grabs my hair, lifting me off the ground, slamming my chest into the island. The wind leaves my lungs gasping to regain oxygen. One hand pins my head to the counter while the other pulls down my silk pajama pants. My kicking legs do little to stop it as it undoes its own pants. The breath catches in my lungs again as my mouth opens to let out a scream. The sound wells up in my throat, electrifying the room until it jams its hand into my mouth and muffles the noise.

“I like a little fight,” whispered the monster in my ear. My teeth sink into the soft flesh of its hand. A copper liquid fills my mouth, leaking down my cheek. The monster howls before stifling the sound. My body flies in the air before crashing into the ground like a spiked ball. “You’ll pay for that,” scowled the monster. It pulls a dishrag off the dishwasher bar and presses its knee into my spine. A cloth cord fills my mouth as it ties a knot behind my head. The monster lays on my back, pinning me to the ground. A sharp, stabbing pain tears into my stomach as it rams its penis into my unready vagina. I muffle a shriek into the dishrag. The monster wraps its hand around my throat and squeezes the air out of my windpipe as it jackhammers away. My light head’s dizzy as itejaculates into me. Blood and seaman leak onto the floor as it stands.

“You have a mess to clean up, whore,” growled the monster.

~~~~~~~~~

The monster sleeps like a baby on the leather couches’ fold out bed. If its mind was a road earlier, its a six lane interstate now. The impulse fire disappeared, leaving a clear path. I walk the corridors of its depraved memories, exploring the folds and crannies of its life.

_Wake up_ , I implant. I can’t see its eyes open in the darkness, but I can feel its mind come to life. _You did a very bad thing_ , I impulse.

_I did a very bad thing_ , it thinks. Every pain center burns with firing synapses.

_But you can make it right_ I implant then stimulate every pleasure center. It shudders with pleasure.

_I can make it right_ , It thinks before standing from the bed.

_Get the cord from the projector_ I suggest. It unplugs a long black cord from the projector. I send a series of impulses, all while bathing it in the purest pleasure: It stacks the two end tables under a rafter. It weaves the cord into a noose then throws the end over the rafter. It climbs up the unsteady tables and ties the cord. The noose slides over it’s head, tightening around its throat.

“I love you Tomie,” said the worm not worthy of uttering my name before kicking out the tables. The body falls before the rope catches and it gurgles. Legs kick, arms grab at the noose to no available. The movements stop and the corpse hangs limply. I grab it’s pulseless wrist. My scream came loud and long until the house erupted into activity.

~~~~~~~~~

Rin, Baker and Mrs Saito sit across the table like an inquisition panel. Red and blue police lights swirl in the windows. Water beads run down my glass, pooling in a ring on the mahogany table. A matching buffet sits between the windows opposite the driveway. No artwork, no family photos, no decorations. The room possesses the same minimalist, utilitarian aesthetic as every room. Why did they buy such a big house if they had no intentions of properly filling it.

_I would kill the bastard_ thinks Baker in a strong, clear voice instead of the usual mumbling.

_You should say something_ I implant.

“What happened Tomie,” said Baker. What a curious thing to ask, the images and words in its mind shows it knows exactly what happened. The flesh chunk torn out of Uncle Kenny’s hand, the blood stains on the kitchen floor and my pajamas, the bruises on me. It’s seen them all. Baker never struck me as a man to succumb to guilt and shame but it oozes out of it, coating it like slime on a slug.

“I went to get a glass of water and Uncle Kenny’s door was open and he was hanging there,” I lied.

“That’s all that happened,” ventured a skeptical Rin. I don’t need to read its mind to see the pain and anger in its blood shot eyes. A uniformed officer enters the room from the kitchen. It more closely resembles a Russel Troll Doll than a woman; a colorful hair mountain must shoot straight into the air when it takes off its hat.

“Mam, it’s time to talk to the girl,” said Officer Russel. I vault from my seat and run to Rin, burying my head into the stunned woman’s chest.

“I don’t want to talk to that lady, I just want my Mommy,” I said.

~~~~~~~~~

I sit on a chair in the vestibule with my hands folded over my lap, staring ahead at nothing in particular. Uncle Kenny’s funeral service was boring. A stodgy clergyman gave the most generic speech possible, making it clear Uncle Kenny was not a religious man. They buried the corpse behind the church under a gaudy monument that would’ve made the pharaohs blush. We returned home for an after party where delusional mourners try to convince themselves they can unironically celebrate a child rapist drug addict’s life. A worthless worm who’s only achievement was being born into a rich family. We agreed to cover up what it did to me, so the family and company could save face but that detestable waste of flesh got exactly what it deserved.

A Penn Station of voices and images pound my mind, impossible to sort thought fragments pile up. Rin told me a gracious hostess entertains but I just want to lay on my bed, jam my head into a pillow and wait for the noise to end.

“Hello, Tomie,” said the preacher holding a Scotch double with iced cubes. It flips through bible versus in its mind, looking for one to quote. “I’m sorry your introduction to this family was ruined like this. It’s a shame you never got to know your Uncle, you would have liked him. He was a fun loving guy.”

“He was a creep and I hated him,” I said as its face melted into a confused grimace.

“Be that as it may, he was still your Uncle and you should be more careful who you say things like that around,” warned the clergyman.

_Go away_ I implant in its mind but it stands there in awkward silence flipping through bible versus. Internal dialog comes in more clearly now, but suggestions are still inconsistent.

“Remember your poor father in his time of need and what the book of Mathew tells us: Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted,” said the preacher.

“Now that you’ve got that out of your system can you leave me alone,” I asked. Mrs Saito watches from the stairs, a disapproving glare on its face, undoubtedly already planning its next manners lesson. Mr Wantanabe wearing a suit stands at the living room entrance thinking about trimming his Bonsai.

“Excuse me Miss,” the gardener said as I approach the door, “the living room’s off limits for today.” Mrs Saito approaches from its overlook by the stairs.

“Mr Wantanabe, this is Tomie, remember,” said the governess.

“Yes, miss, sorry, my apologies,” said the bush trimmer before I push into the study. The furniture has been set right again. Any evidence that a man killed himself in the room a week before gone. Rin and Baker sit on the leather sofa across from a stuffy pencil necked man holding a manila folder. I plop down next to Rin, leaning into its shoulder and the woman wraps its arm around me, running its fingers through my hair.

The mans mind fills with numbers, charts, incomprehensible legalese that makes me want to sleep just hearing it.

“This is our daughter, Tomie. You can continue, Jared,” said Rin.

“Your brother had no wife, or children, girlfriend, or pretty much any family but you. As such, he left his estate to you, Baker, with a carve out for some charitable giving. Ten Million dollars to the New York Ballet Company. Ten Million dollars for a scholarship for Women in STEM. Fifty million to be donated to theLafayette Highlands Academy,” said the man.

“Jesus,” said Baker, “There’s no way this is happening without liquidating his position in the company.”


	4. School

The Bentley idles on the interstate turned parking lot. The driver next to me laughs like an idiot before turning up the radio. Thank god it can’t see me through the tinted windows and I can’t hear its mindless braying. The governess, as severe and constipated looking as ever, sits behind the steering wheel undoubtedly concocting new ways to bore me to death.

“I don’t understand why I must go to a school that’s over an hour away when Black Springs has its own High School. I wouldn’t mind going there, they’re all the same anyway,” I said. Although chronologically I should be in middle school they moved me into 10th grade based on performance. Rin said they could have moved me into any grade but felt that any higher might alienate me from my peers. As if I have peers.

“Miss, the Lafayette Highlands Academy ranked number one in the state. It’s one of the most exclusive preparatory schools in the country. Pretty much all elite children in a 500 mile radius go there. You should consider yourself lucky you only live an hour away. You’ll fit in much better at this school, it’s more of your kind of people,” said the Governess. I think the bitch just called me a snob.

~~~~~~~~~

Mr Derrick stands in front of a digital chalkboard with me. Its ill fitting tweed jacket with elbow patches looks abysmal with tan corduroy. The man’s bushy gray eyebrows must require a wheel barrow to carry around when his neck gets tired. We stand at the digital blackboard, me wearing a white button down shirt tucked into a black pleaded skirt with a gray sweater tied around my waist. My hair tucked smartly behind my ears with a black head band. The shockingly small class only has ten other docile students waiting for the artifact to speak. I’d grown accustomed to the forty or so unruly girls we had at Jackson Broward.

The governess played up the exclusiveness of Lafayette Highlands but the other students look like typical street urchins. The five slack-jawed gorillas and makeup plastered animals stare at me in awkward silence. The boy in a track suite emblazoned with the school’s insignia wonders if its OK to think someone as young as myself is attractive. A shaved head boy with ridged posture and army fatigues reads a book, the words stream out like an audio book. The third boy worries about lunch while the fourth boy stares out the window, trying to see if he can name every car in the teacher’s parking lot.

The fifth boy sits in the seat furthest away from the board. Greasy hair clings to its unwashed scalp over a pimple riddled face. It wears a t-shirt with an ahegao faced anime girl, it’s handvigorously rubbing something in its pocket. Thoughts of torture porn bombard me; women tied up, strangled, beaten, cut, hot wax. I try to turn down the volume but it’s like trying to bottle a raising tide thatstill washes over me.

“Everyone, we have a new student today,” said the elderly man, “her name is Tomie Kawakami-Walton. We do things a little differently here than I’m sure you’re used to, Ms Kawakami. We break students into cohorts based on intelligence. You’re in class 10-A, the highest sophomore level. Unlike regular high school where students rotate between classrooms, the cohorts stay the same and teachers rotate instead. I’m Mr Derrick, the social studies teacher.” The prettiest animal, a pointy faced hyena with big teeth and eyes raises it’s hand, a hideous smile contorting its face. “Yes, Ms Rothschild.”

“What is she, like 10,” said the beast. The four other animals grunt and the boys seem uninterested in the dialog.

~~~~~~~~~

A black box vibrates on the teacher’s withered old crone wrist. The school doesn’t believe in bells, some objection to Pavlovian response mechanisms. The old woman waves the wrist band in front of a censor by the front desk computer. The classroom door swings open and a waitress pushes in a library cart loaded with plates under silver covers. It hands a platter to the pig tailed pig in the front desk. Oink, Oink piggy time to dig in.

“Tomie, we give students menus on Friday to select their lunches for the next week. Since you were not here, we gave you what ever was most popular each day. I hope that’s agreeable,” said the witch by the front desk. The waitress brings me a platter and removes the cover before returning to its duties. A yellow sherbert ball fills a small serving dish at the plate’s top. Chicken Marsala sits onan angel hair bed next to a freshly baked roll still steaming with a butter pat.

“Bet they didn’t have food like this in the orphanage,” said the prettiest hyena.

“No, but they did have just as many common bitches,” I said.

“You have some fucking nerve. Do you know who I am,” snapped the hyena.

“The byproduct of five generations of European Aristocratic incest, a lineage so degraded they had to send it across the world to keep entertaining reputable families,” I said.

“Brutus,” the hyena called to the pervert playing pocket pool earlier. The gorilla looked up from a bacon covered cheeseburger dripping grease all over its desk, “Tomie was just telling me she’s a huge fan of Pokemon fan art.” The grease stain covered brute lays its burger in the slime lake and walks over.

“Which is your favorite starting Pokemon to draw? Mine’s Bulbasaur, it’s all the vines, they can be really fun to draw,” said the pervert as it thinks of a skinny red haired girl being lifted into the air by a weird looking green dog. It winces when I poke the pain center for it teeth.

“I don’t want to have this conversation, you insufferable ass,” I corrected with another pain flash.

“It’s ok, I mean, I like all of them I guess, not just the starters,” it said while thinking _Save this you Idiot, Save it._ “You have a favorite site you go to.” The horrible hyena walks over to the pig by the door, they watch us and laugh.

A woman in a smart pantsuit and tie enters the room. The old woman stands from its desk. “Principle Matthews, welcome,” said the woman. The other students quiet down.

“I would like to say a word to Tomie, if she’s not too busy making friends,” said the woman. Even the governess would be a welcomed relief from talking with this imbecile.

“Gladly,” I said before Brutus sulks back to its seat.

“Hello Tomie, my name is Madison Matthews but you can just call me Principle Maddie. I wanted to welcome you in person and say what an honor it is to have another Walton grace our halls. I’m sure you’ve notice the plaque at the main entrance quoting your Grandfather Ulysses Walton who’s generous endowment created this school. Your father came here, as well as his lovely wife Rin. Your Uncle Kenny as well.” Normally I would be infuriated by this vulgar display but the defeated, sickened look on the Hyena and pig made it worth every honey choked word.

~~~~~~~~~

Before school, before lunch, after school waiting for the Governess to retrieve me this troglodyte continues its verbal assault. I’ve run out of polite ways to express my disinterest. I’ve run out of impolite ways to express my disinterest. Pain at the thought of staying, pleasure at the thought of going,yet it persists. As if the only thing it wouldn’t do for me is leave me alone.

My quail egg and tarragon dressing salad remains untouched, Brutus’ nausea inducing stupidity reducing my appetite to a quivering dog in the corner of my mind. The boy perpetually in army fatigues, Wallace Something-ton, sips on tea reading a treatise full of military jargon.

_Look at Tomie_ I implant. Wallace looks at me and a wave of pleasure stimulates it. Wallace smiles before turning back to its book.

The field and track member sitting by the door watches me. _Will I ever get a turn_ it thinks. It winces when I pinch it’s mind. _This so unfair_ wincing pain. _I want to talk to her,_ a wave of pleasure _._

_I need to save her,_ I implant in it’s thoughts. The boy walks over from its seat.

“Do you mind if I talk to Tomie for a minute,” the boy asked.

“Of course I mind,” huffed out Brutus, “We’re in the middle of a conversation. Can’t you see that?” Track boy walks away dejected. At least its a start.

“What do you do for a living,” I asked.

“What do you mean, a living? I’m just a student. My dad’s CEO of Watermelon Hills Farm, the biggest commercial farm in southern Georgia so I don’t really need money for anything,” said the pervert.

~~~~~~~~~

Dining with servants feels beyond tacky. A dust covered Mrs Tanaka sits next to a Mr Wanatabe still caked in dirt and sap. Mrs Wanatabe will eat later after the household has been served. I sit opposite the servants next to the governess so she can nitpick my every move. Baker sits at the table head closest to the kitchen entrance with Rin on the opposite end. Dinner wasalmost ready by the time we arrived home. The Governess, forgetting that I had a full day of instruction followed by homework sat me down for etiquette lessons. Baker and Rin arrived well after 6pm. Mrs Tanaka told me in confidence they were making a special effort to be home at a reasonable hour to see me. I wish they would stop.

“There’s a most insufferable boy in class. Regardless of how many times and ways I express my disinterest, it won’t leave me alone,” I tell Rin during our daily recap.

“He,” corrected the governess, “You use ‘he’ for boys, ‘she’ for girls and ‘it’ for objects and ideas.” These pointless grade school grammar lessons need to stop.

“I guess you don’t have a lot of experience with boys since you went to an all girls school,” said Rin. “You’re a very attractive young lady, Tomie, and I fear you’ll have a life time of politely turning away boys ahead of you. Maybe Mrs Saito can work with you on the proper ways to let him down gently.” How could the governess help me with a matter so far outside its expertise?

Baker’s thoughts laugh, though the man appears unmoving.


	5. Echo

“I can’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to start with Charmander. It’s a fucking lizard that breathes fire and turns into a fucking dragon that breathes fire,” said Brutus.

“I don’t care,” I complained to the heavens because lord knows this degenerate isn’t listening, “I’ve had to put up with your idiotic, nonsensical ramblings for a solid month now. I would rather lay my head on a railroad track than continue listening to the verbal incontinence leaking out of your northern shit hole.”

“Well if you don’t like Charmander, you don’t have to start with it,” said the deaf imbecile.

“Uhhggg,” I said slamming my head into the desk much harder than I intended. A warm dot travels down my forehead.

_Save me_ _please_ , I implant in track boy’s head followed by pleasure.

“Leave her alone Brutus,” said track boy, “Can’t you take a hint, she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Fuck you,” said the imbecile. Track boy punches the pervert’s chin and Brutus grabs its cheek, tears welling in its eyes. “Hey what the hell.” Brutus pushes the boy and he stumbles into a desk.

“Brutus, Laramie, stop this at once,” yelled the crone by the digital blackboard. Track boy tackles Brutus and straddles the moron, fists flying into the arms covering its face. A uniformed officer enters the room. The officer grabs track boy off the imbecile and drags it out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~

“Tomie, come eat lunch with us,” said the prettiest Hyena. The hyena, the pig and the three other girls sit in a desk cluster pushed together for lunch.

“Why,” I asked from my desk. The angry girl couldn’t fake a smile to save its life.

“Because, my dad said I have to be nice to you, so I’m trying,” said the hyena.

“What makes you think I want to be friends with something like you? With your mass market trendy mall garbage. Your basic attitude, ugly face and horrible breath. Talking to you would be such a chore,” I said.

“God you’re such a bitch,” said the Hyena. “You don’t want me as an enemy, little girl.”

~~~~~~~~~

People are like ants, they get all riled up at the smallest things. Normally such trivial excitement’s below my consideration but curiosity gets the better of me. I venture into the den to see the commotion’s cause. Rin and Baker sit behind the imposing desk in the corner. Black straight hair sticks over the brown leather executive chair’s back. Rin stares like a deer in headlight. A dopey smile plasters Baker’s face.

_I’m so beautiful_ a voice whispers into its mind.

_She’s so beautiful_ thinks Baker. His dopey smile broadens as pleasure ripple through its mind.

_Look at me_ I implant in its head. It keeps watching the chair’s contents.

_Good Boy_ a voice whisper in its mind as pleasure takes over again.

“Tomie, dear, we want you to come meet someone,” said Rin. A young woman sits in the chair, a beauty mark just like mine under itsleft eye. Its perfect smile and piercing eyes poorly mask the anger and malice seething from itsbeing. Breasts push out of a white collared shirt tucked into a black pleated skirt, its hair tucked under a black head band. It must be at least six inches taller than me.

“Actually, My name’s Tomie, my little sister’s name is Eko,” said a fake Tomie. _Call_ _it_ _Eko_ whispers into Baker’s mind.

“Eko, meet your older sister, Tomie,” said Baker before melting further into its chair.

“Baker, don’t you think we should talk about this as a family and see if Tomie even wants to change her name before we just do it,” said Rin.

“What makes you think something so hideous could be related to me,” I asked. These two are far too trusting.

“Be polite, Tomie. She would be your identical twin if we aged you six years. The resemblance is uncanny,” said Rin.

“Would it be, OK, if I had some alone time with my dear Eko-chan,” said the fake Tomie. Baker stood awkwardly, failing to conceal an obvious erection. Rin took its arm and guided it to the door, a disapproving scowl flashes at the fake before they disappear into the vestibule.

“You can’t seduce Baker,” I chided it. It’s trying to kill the golden goose.

“Apparently I can, little girl,” said the fake, “Let me tell you a story. I once dated a very naughty boy named Eric. He wasn’t this wealthy but he was well off. He loved me and I tolerated him well enough. He was madly jealous so we had a rocky relationship. Always killing any boys that showed me the least bit of attention. Nature happened, as it does, and I got pregnant. He took me to the Black Springs State Park for a day of unsophisticated drudgery. Stale crackers, warm cheese, and dollar store wine on top of a threadbare table cloth. A tick and spider filled march through overgrown woodlands. He took me to watch the sunset to the tune of babbling rapids. And as the sun made its final descent into the horizon’s orange blackness, he sliced my stomach open with a knife and pulled my organs out one by one before leaving me a butchered animal on the river bank. I may have said he might not be the father but he totally over reacted. Boys just can’t handle honesty.”

“I met you, that night you climbed out of the river bed, a cancerous lump grown from my discarded uterus. You’re not Tomie, you’re a poor facsimile, a faded photograph, a distant echo. You can’t even reach a corrupted simpleton like Baker, what a stupid little echo you are.A ha ha,” she held her hand to her chest, tilted her head back and sputtered out a croaking imitation of laughter.

~~~~~~~~~

“What do you think of your sister,” asked Rin from the couch’s other end. Baker turns to us on the leather lounger.

“I hate it, its a vicious, terrible thing and I want nothing to do with it,” I said. Baker paused the projector.

“Honey, We’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” said Rin. “We’ve been talking to your school and they’ve expressed concerns that you aren’t making friends, and you’ve been just dreadful to this one boy, what’s his name Baker.”

“I don’t know, it was something you give a dog,” said the man.

“Anyway, that's not important right now, we’re worried about you sweetie, these are people you’re going to spend the next three years with, you have to find something you have in common,” said Rin.

“But I…” I ventured to say.

“Don’t interrupt your mother,” said Baker. I punch a pain center and it doesn’t even notice.

“We think it best that you spend some time with your sister and get to know her. You’re so much alike and she was so friendly. She can teach you how to connect with people and not be so, closed,” said the woman.

“And we’ve been thinking about your birth name a lot,” said Baker as a vision of Tomie’s crossed legs enter its mind. The legs spread open with a quick flash of inner thighs and panties before swinging shut again. “and if Tomie’s going to be in our lives more, we would like you to consider changing your name back.”

~~~~~~~~~

The five animals stare at me from their desk cluster. The prettiest hyena looks me in the eye, arms folded across its chest. I wrap my foot behind my other ankle with my arm behind my back holding my upper bicep. Nails dig into my arm’s soft meat. Another person may consider this an easy thing to do. Another person may find the humility to fake their way through a forced apology. But every fiber of my being would rather tear my tongue out with a fork than use it to apologize to this wildebeest.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you,” I said digging my toes into the ground. The smug bitch has the nerve to lift its chin in the air and look over its shoulder at the girls behind it. I pinch my arm until the skin seperates to keep from saying something.

“Wow, daddy must have really taken it to a psycho like you to get an apology,” said the hyena.

“You’re right, my father, much like your father, asked that I play nice. Trust me, it’s much more unpleasant for me to prostrate myself to barnyard animals like you than it is for you to hear it,” I graciously conceded. It rolls its eyes and looks over its shoulders to the peanut gallery watching our conversation.

“You want to be a friend? Meet us under the bleachers after school and come hang out,” said the Hyena.

“What do you do under the bleachers for fun,” I asked. Trivial girls doing trivial things, most likely. Hanging in dark places, passing around a cigarette like common street trash. Maybe when I come home reeking of smoke, Baker will relent with its idiotic demands.

“You have to come to find out,” it said.

~~~~~~~~~

My desk’s solitude comforts me. Avoiding trivial people’s fake friendship, men’s glaring eyes and their wicked thoughts. Just myself, my thoughts and the constant mental harpooning from Brutus’ degenerate brain.

“Tomie,” said the huffing pervert from hthe three feet walk. “What do you think of this.” It hands me a cellphone, clothespins pinch the nipples of a woman tied to a work bench. Drool slides down its cheek from a red ball gag. The thing looks like an animal about to be milked.

“Why would you ever show this to me,” I implore before spiking the phone. The screen shatters into a spiderweb while glass chunks fly.

~~~~~~~~~

Darkness encloses the area under the bleachers. Feet clank on the metal benches over head. A team runs circles around a track while people practice throwing things. A most trivial, pointless display of mass mediocrity. Running in an endless straight line’s the perfect experience for elite adulthood’s gilded cage.

The cellphone vibrates in my pocket again. Third time the governess’s called me. I should probably let it know I’m staying late but the thought of itfutilely punching buttons for an hour in the parking lot is too delicious. Noxious thoughts roll over me like a vomit tidal wave. I push back but they keep getting louder until Brutus’ imposing bulk blocks the light coming from the bleacher’s entrance.

“Tomie,” it calls into the darkness, holding a hand above its eyes. It’s thoughts fill my head with visions of tortured women. A fire wall encloses it’s mind from my intrusion. “They told me you wanted to meet here,” it called into the darkness before entering the metal structure. A fence blocks the rear entrance, a snack bar blocks the far entrance and it blocks the side. I move to the first step I can reach, grab the stair and pull myself half out. The hyena and its friends sit on the bleachers, looking down at me, hideous smiles contorting their faces. Were they laughing at me?

“Help me,” I implored, struggling to get my legs out of the narrow space.

“Where you going,” asked the Hyena, “lover boy’s waiting for you.” She kicks my butt, sliding my hips back under the bleacher in a shock of pain. The hyena pushes my shoulders through and I fall to the ground. The brute stands over my sprawled body.

“Can’t you just leave me alone,” I said my hips burning with pain, possibly broken. It pulls me off the ground shoving a hand down my shirt. The scream rattles the bleachers, traveling out like a shock wave. The brute hesitates for a minute, the fire of its mind wavering before catching hotter than before.

“But I love you,” it said. I scream again as it shoves a hand down my pants.

“What’s going on in there,” said an adult voice from the open end. A crowd of boys in running gear forms behind the man as I scream again. A rush grabs the brute, it drops me under the pressure of a dozen pulling hands.

~~~~~~~~~

“I would like to know why you were under the bleachers with a boy while your chaperon was searching for you,” asked Principle Maddie. How obtuse can this woman be? The grapefruit sized purple bruise on my hipshould tell her something happened.

“That Rothschild monster asked me to hang out with her after school and sent that brute in her place. She even had the nerve to push me back under the bleachers when I tried to escape,” I said.

“That’s not what I hear, Ms Kawakami. Ms Rothschild was watching her boyfriend at the track with her friends and didn’t know you were there. She found out when you screamed and alerted Mr Rogers. I also heard you’ve been pretty sweet on Mr Goodacre. Ms Kawakami, I know you’re still young and some naivete can be forgiven on your part, but you need to learn what a boy means when he asks you to meet him in some dark secluded place alone.

~~~~~~~~~

The fake sits on my vanity stool brushing its hair without using my mirror. The imitation’s supposed to help me but so far has done little but preen and strut around my room.

“How do you make friends,” I asked the fake. It turns slightly brushing its hair, posture ridged like it has a wood plank spine.

“A goddess doesn’t make friends,” said the fake, “You naive, stupid little echo. There are only two kinds of people, ones you use and people who use you. Put everyone in the first category and destroy anyone in the second.” A knock raps my door before it swings open. Baker stands at the threshold.

“It’s time for me to take Tomie home,” said Baker. _Worship your goddess_ whispers in its head.

“You’re looking exceptionally beautiful today,” said Baker.

“You’re too kind,” said the fake with a nauseating school girl titter.


	6. Track Meet

“Tomie, honey, how’s your hip? The school called to say you had a nasty spill off the bleachers,” said Rin. The ride home started off tender but the bruising went down by the time we pulled through the front gate. The governess’s awe struck donkey face was priceless when she had to put an ice pack on a quarter sized bruise.

“Is that what they’re saying, that I fell off the bleachers,” I huffed.

“What really happened, Eko,” said Baker. A vision enters its mind: the man sits in a parked car by a run down, ancient cabin. The front wall sags as a broken log lays on the ground. Everything’s dark, the windows have no light, only the running lights illuminate the scene with a dull, soft light like a night light. The fake sits in the passenger seat, it’s face illuminated by the digital navigation display. The man holds the fake’s head; they lean together, lips embracing.

“My name’s not Eko, it’s Tomie,” I said. Baker doesn’t look at me when it talks anymore. It doesn’t seem to focus on anything anymore, as though it walks around with its head in a cloud.

“I think if we’re going to see your sister so much, it gets confusing to have two Tomies. I can hardly have a conversation with your mother with out tripping over which Tomie I’m talking about,” said Baker.

“Well I never wanted that fake around. You keep inviting her back, not me, I’m Tomie, not Eko, and I don’t care what that impostor has to say,” I vent. The cuckold woman breaks into a smile.

“Our daughter’s right, maybe we need to spend less time talking about her sister,” said Rin.

“Oh this again. She’s your daughter’s sister, whether you like it or not and we have no right to deprive her of her only family,” said the cheater.

“You don’t think I see the way you look at her, like a dog with a piece of meat,” Rin raised its voice, the servants look at each other. The governess grabs my hand and practically rips me from my chair. Stupid oaf doesn’t seem to mind the idea of re-hurting my hip.

~~~~~~~~~

The lack of consequences has failed to discourage the brute from killing my brain cells with every useless word dribbling from its mouth. It’s not responding to anything I say, all I can do is ignore it and hope that it loses interest on its own. Track suit Larry and Brutus have pulled their desks up to mine during lunch. I pet track suit boy’s mind like a kitten and it purrs. Army boy still blocks me out but it seems to have a passable relationship with track boy so maybe I can leverage that to get it to join me. Army boy reads a schlocky military novel where super human soldiers do outrageously unrealistic things to save the world from cold war era super villains. I would rather listen to a million aweful novels than smell the stench coming from Brutus’s gutter one more time.

“Are you going to come to our meet this weekend,” asked track suit boy dreaming of standing on a podium with medals. I shock it with pain. _Worship your Goddess_ I whisper into its mind. It imagines itself prostrate at my feet, I pet its mind again. _Worship your Goddess out loud_ I correct. “Tomie, I would be honored if you came.” Pleasure waves around its mind. The hyena looks at me, then back toitsanimal collection.

“Yes, my pet,” I said, running my hand over its cheek. A tall skinny girl resembling a stork with lanky limbs and a neck more useful for dredging a river bed than holding up a human head walks over. She places a note on my desk then walks away.

I open the note:

Meet me under the bleachers again darling, Love Brutus <3 <3

The animal cluster laughs at me as I tear up the note.

“Do you know who that thing’s boyfriend is,” I asked track boy, pointing at the hyena.

“Bruno, yeah of course I know Bruno. He’s a good friend. I can introduce you on Saturday, if you come to see me of course,” it thinks it’s so clever.

~~~~~~~~~

“Can I go to the track meet on Saturday, there’s a boy I want to see in the competition,” I said at the dinner table. Rin looks up from her plate with a sudden interest.

“Absolutely not, we already have plans for the weekend, your sister’s coming over Saturday,” said Baker.

“Isn’t this exactly what we wanted, for Tomie to come out of her shell and make friends? Why would you say no,” asked the woman.

“I don’t want to see my sister, I want to see my friends,” I lied, but they’re too stupid to realize.

“A Walton doesn’t break her word, if she made plans with someone then she needs to see them through,” said Baker.

“What if Tomie goes with her,” asked Rin. Baker smiles asa wicked image worms its way out of its brain before disappearing.

~~~~~~~~~

Fans pack the stands around the track. Boys stretch along the long oval surrounding the field in different colored clusters. The school’s team wears blue uniforms. Yellow buses clog up the cul-de-sac at the entrance to the track compound.

Hundreds of men’s thoughts pound into my head like marbles shaken in a can. The hyena stands next to a waist high fence at the track’s outer perimeter talking to a tall handsome boy. It smiles at the fake Tomie but I can’t focus for the cacophony flooding my mind.

“You’ll get used to it,” said the fake Tomie, “You’ll learn to ignore the quiet voices and tone down the loudest ones. You just need practice. At first it’s like being thrown from a helicopter into a sewage lake but as you get used to it, it’s more like standing ankle deep in shit.” I close my eyes and try to turn down the volume but as soon as I do, another section’s volume roars up. “Who’s that hideous creature over there,” asked the fake pointing at the hyena staring at us.

“That’s the mean girl, and I would assume it’s boyfriend,” I said. Laramie waves to me from the blue herd. I quickly wave and close my eyes again.

“Go sit down, light weight,” said the fake. The hot bench burns my legs as I sit with my head by my knees. The imitation walks to the fence next to the hyena. The fake waves to a boy holding a javelin in the grass. The boy points at itself and the fake beckons it with a curling finger. The boy walks over, the fake pulls it into a kiss by its shirt. They lock lips as a disgusted hyena looks on. The hyena walks to my bench.

“Oh my god, is that your sister? She’s an even bigger slut than you are,” said the Hyena before ascending the bleachers. The fake kisses the boy until the announcer calls the start and the boy’s team pulls it away. The imitation plops next to me, sitting up board stiff with a big smile. The smitten boy waves and the fake ignoresit. The hyena’s boyfriend and Laramie line up in lanes with a half dozen other boys. The starter pistol pops and they take off. The lovesick boy leans on its javelin watching at the track’s edge. It walks onto the track, readying the javelin at it’s shoulder.

“Please stay off the track until the race is over,” announces over the loud speaker. It doesn’t move. “Please get off the track,” said the announcer. The boys hit the original starting line, the hyena’s boyfriend leading the pack. The javelin holder takes off, running towards the pack as they approach. The thrower plants its foot and rips the javelin forward. The metal pole impacts Bruno’s chest so hard we can hear the ribs break as the tip penetrates. Bruno topples over backwards, the javelin sticking out of its chest. The boys trip over each other to get out of the way. The coach on the blue team’s bench runs towards Bruno. The hyena screams and the crowd turns to look into the stands. The medical team runs onto the track. The Javelin thrower blows a kiss to the fake. A coach bends over Bruno, gripping the javelin with two hands. “No,” yells one of the EMTs as the man pulls the javelin out of Bruno’s chest. The body convulses, hands flopping at its side. Blood gushes out of the cavity, the EMTs stop at the body, looking down helplessly. The javelin thrower struts around the fence infront of us.

“I love you, my goddess,” shouts the boy. I can’t read its mind, the overwhelming crash of voices drown individual thoughts. The police approach the boy, one placing a hand on it’s shoulder. The fake cracks a smirk as the police drag the boy away. “My Goddess, I’ll come to you” it yells into the stands.

~~~~~~~~~

Bruno bled out on the track, in no small part due to that idiotic coach pulling the javelin out. The hyena’s not laughing now. It wears a black dress; a matching veil hides its face. Morning’s supposed to be a serious activity for humans but the hyena looks comically antiquated, like something from a 19th century photograph. I titter when I see the silly creature for being such a silly little bitch.

“You did this,” growled the hyena as I walk past, “you and your psycho, witch family. You know that boy and my daddy’s going to hire a private investigator and find out how. You better believe they’re going to comb through every part of your life until we find that connection then sue you into poverty.”

“I don’t know who that boy was, and I don’t care. I came to see that thing run,” I said pointing at Laramie, “not you, or your little boyfriend. I wish you weren’t there at all but it’s a free country and I have no say.” Its anger and pain are delicious. Its face hides behind the veil but the slumping shoulders tell me the hyena lacks the will power to fight back. I turn my nose up, let out anindignant huff and walk to my desk. Giant red letters spell SLUT on its surface.

~~~~~~~~~

The governess stands by my door, holding up a man’s portrait. Normally we would do this in the living room but Baker and Rin have been fighting. Their arguments have become daily, raging for most of the night.

“He, Him,” I said. I was tempted to say “it” to piss off the governess but that would just waste my precious time.

“Very Good,” said the governess. She switches the picture to a boy wearing a baseball cap, holding a bat.

“He, Him,” I said as she flips the page to a little girl in pigtails skipping on a jump rope.

“I’m not fucking my daughter’s sister,” Baker’s angry protestations carry through the normally sound dampening floors. Not yet, anyway.

“Are they going to be OK,” I said. The governess let its stern expression slip, a sadness flashing across its face before the veil’s lifted again.

“It’s not a young lady’s place to concern herself with adults problems,” said the governess.

~~~~~~~~~

The large stall door reaches from the floor to the ceiling. An attendant sits at the unisex bathroom’s entrance to monitor the room and hand out towels. The old woman always looks half asleep. A fan whirls endlessly above the sound proof toilet cubicle filling the mini room with an unpleasant background noise. My feet can’t reach the floor so they dangle off the oversized toilet. The toilet flushes when I stand. The Hyena and three friends stand in the bathroom when I exit the stall, the old lady’s vanished from the door.

“Do you do everything together,” I asked before plunging my hands into the self starting sink basin. The four girls watch me from the entrance. I wash my hands and they just stare. I bend down to get a towel. A broad neck-less woman with curly hair and flattened face resembling a buffalo winds up a leg and plants its foot into my cheek. I fly over sideways, banging my cheek into the cabinet under the sink. The door handle tears a flesh chunk out as I skid to a stop. Blood drips down my face. The hyena looks down at me; its face stone cold, emotionless. The hyena walks over to me and I reach up to it, asking for help off the ground but instead a foot connects with my ribs. Four feet fly into my body as I curl into a defensive position. Ribs, shoulder, neck, face, face, face. Everything erupts into pain, I cover my head with my arms to stop the hits. I scream until my voice gives out but no one comes and the beating doesn’t stop. A hand reaches into my scalp, ripping out a hair chunk.

The beating eventually stops and the girls leave. I pull myself back to a standing position despite the screaming pain in every limb. Red cuts drip blood down my beautiful face. A red ground beef like flesh chunk at the top of my hairline covers my forehead in blood. The black mass still attached to flesh lays at my feet. Red blood stains cover my cardigan. My left eye can barely stay open for the swelling. I drag myself down the hallway wall trying to combat unsupportive legs until I reach my classroom. The old teacher gasps when I pass the threshold into the room.

“Oh my god, Tomie, what happened,” said the Hyena. The old woman’s already on the phone by the time I take my seat, my posture as proud and straight as normal.

_That’s so hot_ thought Brutus putting a hand in its front pocket.

~~~~~~~~~

Baker sits in the makeshift bedroom that was once our living room. The pull out bed sits open, sheets disheveled. Baker’s dirty clothes lay strewn about the floor and furniture. Don’t we have a maid.

“Your mom and I are going through a rough patch,” said Baker at the corner desk. I try to turn off access to the endless slide show of the fake in its poisoned necrotic mind. “How are you feeling, honey, I heard you got into a fight at school today.” What lies do they tell this moron?

“If by fight you mean four animals almost beat me to death, then yes, I got into a fight,” I said. The man stands, walking over to me. Vengeful thoughts flood into its mind. It pulls my chin up and looks at my face. The swelling in my eyes abated. Several cuts have sown themselves shut. The bandaged cuts that required stitches are spitting them out under their covers. The hair on my bare scalp has started to grow.

“It’s not nearly as bad as the school made it out to be,” said the man before returning to its seat. “I have a surprise for you, honey. I know you must be down because of everything that happened at school, so I asked your sister to spend the night with you.”

~~~~~~~~~

The fake sits at my vanity, running a brush through its black hair. I sit on the bed, my legs pulled up to my chest watching it. The fake hasn’t said a word to me since coming into my room; it just grooms itself.

“How do I get boys to do what I want like you can,” I asked. The fake stopped brushing its hair to turn toward me. It holds its hand to its chest, leans its chin up and belts out a fake laugh.

“Ha, ha ha. As if a silly little echo like you could ever be like me,” it said before going back to its hair.

“You’re not doing a very good job of cheering me up,” I said to the impostor. It stood from the bench.

“I’m not here to cheer you up,” it said, pulling its underwear off from under its skirt.

“Hold these for me,” it said, throwing its panties at me before letting out another fake condescending laugh on its way out the door. I sit in silence, looking at the blackness consuming our estate’s expansive backyard. I sneak downstairs and press my ear against the door. Animalistic grunts come through it. I look into the keyhole, the topless fake rides Baker, its skirt encircling the man’s crotch.

~~~~~~~~~

Doors slam as feet pound down the hall by the staircase. Night’s dark still blackens the windows. A red 4:30 shineson the alarm clock’s digital display. The fake’s sleeping bag sits unopened on the vanity. Japanese words drift through my door from two old women at the staircase landing. Small wheels drag across the hardwood floor, clicking whenever they reach the space between boards. The governess and maid stop talking when they see me approach.

“What’s going on,” I asked, rubbing the sleeping sands from my eyes.

“Go back to bed, Tomie, there’s nothing down there for you but hurt,” said the governess. I ignore the servant’s words and head down the stairs. Rin stands by two metal suitcases in a red button down coat and matching felt pillbox hat, black leather gloves in hand. It casts bloodshot red eyes up to me as I come down the stairs.

“What’s going on Mommy,” I said in the cutesyest tone in my register. The woman flinches as though I stabbed it with a dagger.

“Hello, Tomie. You should go back to bed, it’s still early,” said Rin.

“Where you going,” I continue to lay on the girlishness. I bound over to Rin, wrapping my arms around its waist, resting my head on its shoulder. The woman runs its fingers through my hair.

“I’ve requested a transfer to our Knoxville office, and I’m asking your father for a divorce,” it said. “It turns out he’s far more like his brother than I ever knew.” Rin doesn’t look at me while it talks, its eyes watch the servants watching us as it spits out these words like glass shards.

“Can I come with you,” I asked with a squeeze for emphasis. It remains stoic as a single tear melts down its eyes.

“Honey, do you know what the worst part is? I can’t even look at my own daughter any more without seeing her,” said my former mother giving me one last kiss on the head. The woman pulls out of my arms and rolls the suitcases out the front door. She disappears into the rear seats of the running Bentley as the gardener puts its luggage in the trunk. I watch from the front door as the automobile carries my only ally away.

~~~~~~~~~

The movers remind me of bears: tall men with thick muscular builds and broad shoulders, bodies covered in thick black curly hair. They carry an ornately carved four poster platform foundation up the staircase. Grunting as they maneuvered the thick wooden slab over the banister. _I hope Tomie likes it_ thought Baker. The thoughts should please me, if only he had been thinking of the real one.

“Next time, Eko” said Baker as it watches the men work with me in the foyer. The delusional man calls me by the name suggested by my imitation sister. “I know I promised you some nicer furniture, and I mean it but it just totally slipped my mind, sorry kiddo.” The man tasseles my hair before returning to its office. I follow behind the man, not wanting to let it get off that easily.

“Have you heard from Mom,” I asked the cheater. _I can’t believe she didn’t even say goodbye_ thought the man.

“No, but her assistant said she made it to Knoxville OK. And she misses you and once things settle down she’ll have you come visit her,” said the cheater. I don’t need to read its mind to know its lying. “Are you excited that your sister is moving in with us, that should be a lot of fun, right?”

“I hate the bitch with a burning passion but a man has its needs,” I said. _What does she know_ thinks the man. More than a poisoned simpleton like you ever will again. A walking, talking carcass. A zombie.

~~~~~~~~~

Baker sits at the table in a thousand dollar Italian suit next to an old maid with bushy gray hair and a face with more wrinkles than a raisin. Baker’s barely functioning brain slides between images of the fake fucking the man in its new bedroom. _Look at me whispers_ in its mind and it turns to the fake. The fake looks at me in turn, as if to assert its dominance.

Principal Maddie looks violently ill, like a seasick woman rowing a boat in a hurricane. The principal sits next to the entire school board, all dressed up as though this meeting will determine their career trajectory.The catering crew sets up a sandwich buffet in the corner.

“I don’t understand the problem,” fumed Baker, the principal shrinking at every word, “I just want Eko transferred to another classroom. How many times does she need to be attacked before you consider her safety?”

“Sir, please, be reasonable. We don’t just arbitrarily group kids together, they’re grouped based on inteligance and if I may be frank, sir, Tomie’s special. Her intelligence is off the charts.”

“Eko,” corrected the zombie, “Her name is Eko. She was confused as a child and gave her sister’s name to the police. This is the real Tomie, her name is Eko and if it pleases you I want her to be known by her real name.” _Good boy_ whispers in its mind as the fake pets it.

“I’ll be honest with you, Mr Walton, our institution doesn’t know how to handle a student as exceptional as Eko and her teachers already have trouble challenging her even in the highest difficulty classes. We could move her up a grade.”

“Unacceptable, she’s already too young for her current grade and that’s probably half the problem,” said the man.

“What if,” broke in the fake Tomie, “You gave her a chaperon?”

~~~~~~~~~

The classroom’s on fire with news of the fake’s arrival. The whole school’s ablaze by lunch. The fake watches me from a chair against the wall secretly reaching into the boy’s minds, petting them, planting thoughts into the ripe, untilled furrows. Small things, to look at her. To smile. To wave. I can feel an energy sucking towards her like water being drawn to a whirlpool. Even the vile pervert behind me who spent most classes harpooning me with its vile thoughts has entered the whirlpools orbit.

The girl cluster hunches over their food, watching the fake talk to Brutus from ontop of its desk. _My Goddess_ flashed through its mind. _Worship me_ whispered in its mind. The brute stands, gets on its knees and grabs the fake’s knees in supplication. The fake watches me from the desk. A folded paper hits my arm from the direction of the Hyena cluster. Two stick figures hang from nooses attached to a terribly drawn tree. Slut Sisters scrawls across the bottom. Tomie written under the big stick figure, Eko written under the small one.

_Look at me_ I whisper into the oafish pervert’s mind. It continues to hold onto the fake’s knees. _Laugh at the stupid little Eko_ whispers in its mind. The oaf lets out a sickening, chortling guffaw. The fake Tomie hops down then walks out of the room.

“Miss, you can’t just walk the halls” called the matronly old teacher. The fake either doesn’t hear her or doesn’t care and continues. Brutus sits back at its desk, the fake poisoned its mind in record time. I walk over as it stares out the window, disgusting images flip through its mind.

“You told me you have money saved up,” I said to the boy. It stares ahead not paying attention. _Pay attention to me now_ I whisper into its mind. “If you can get me two thousand, I’ll let you do anything you want to me.” It looks at me with a dopey smile.

~~~~~~~~~

Brutus looks at the home from the orange tree lined driveway. _Wow what a ho_ _use_ it thinks. It clutches its backpack straps. The governess drives the car to the garage. The fake bounds up the porch stairs and disappears inside.

“We should go before it gets back,” I said. _Follow me my pet_ I implant in its mind.

“Whatever you say,” said the pervert. We walk around the porch and take the overgrown pathway to the rundown shacks by the field. I pet its mind gently the whole way. I can feel the fire welling, the lust that threatens to lock me out of its brain and ruin the plan. _Do what I say_ I implant.

“Where are we going,” it asks me as we drudge through the weeds.

“You stupid, insignificant moron. We can’t go into the house, unless you want to have my governess sitting between us,” I said. _Save This, Save This_ it thinks.

“No, that's cool. I get it,” said the brute. We enter the windowless outbuilding by the field. A kerosene lantern lights up the moldy room. Handcuff attached chains connect with metal loops on the wooden slab. A tarp runs from the wooden slab to the far corner. _Lay down_ I implant in its mind. The boy follows my command.

“Put your arm up,” I said snapping the hand cuff around its wrist. “Now the other one.” I repeat the process for its other wrist then ankles. The boy’s lard flows over the board’s side. It tugs at the bindings but can’t move its wrists or ankles.

“What are we doing,” asked the boy. I unzip the backpack and pull out money stacks.

“I thought you wanted to have some fun,” I said to the pervert. I pull a six inch hunting knife from a duffle bag in the corner. “Do you know what this is used for? It’s a hunting knife for dressing game. I found it neglected in the garage. It seemed lonely, like something Baker bought on impulse and forgot about.” I pull out a black cashmere sweater and drop it by the pervert.

“What are you planning,” asked the brute, thinking of a woman in a ball-gag being whipped.

“You like seeing people hurt, don’t you,” I asked the pervert pulling its shirt up to its chest, its fat jiggles as it squirms.

“This isn’t what I want,” huffed out the gorilla as it squirms. The blade’s edge runs smoothly over its stomach, a thin red line chases behind. “I don’t want this,” it screamed.

“Did you ever care what I wanted,” I asked the pervert, running the blade perpendicularly, a thin line making a plus sign over its stomach.

“Please, I’ll stop, just let me go,” it said. _I’ll get you bitch_ it thought. Its nipple detaches from its chest with a flick of my wrist. It screams but no one will hear it from here. “Leave me alone,” it said while I bring the knife to its other nipple. The shrill piercing scream hurts my ears as I dig the knife in deeper, pulling out a flesh chunk with the other nipple. “Tomie, please,” it begs.

“Do you ever shut up,” I asked the pervert. I stab its tongue when it tries speaking. The pervert jerks its head to the side, cutting open its cheek. Brutus tries talking again, its tongue flops as blood wells in a flesh valley. Tears run down it’s eyes as it drools out red liquid. The screams no longer sound human. The blade plunges into it’s eye socket, getting stuck in the skull. Blood filled puss sprays from the wound. The eyeball pulls out on the knife tip.

The blade sinks easily into its fat lined stomach, blood rushing out of the deep wound as I carve the plus sign into its flesh. I sponge up blood with the black sweater. A steady stream pulses out with its heart beat. I wring the sweater onto its backpack and money. Its movements slow as it bleeds out on the table.

“Do you want to get out,” I asked the pitiable creature. It moans something, maybe assent or delirium. I grab its hand, holding it at tension before sawing through the wrists with the knife. The hand detaches from the stump, its arm falling out of the handcuff. Blood sprays onto my face as it flails in my direction. Warm, sticky beads run down my cheek. I smear the blood down my face then lick the coppery fluid off my lips.

“Was it as good for you as it was for me, big boy,” I moaned out. It screams, flailing its arm in my direction as I gather up the money, sweater, hand and book bag. The knife stabs into its crotch, the blade pushing through the resistance from its zipper then the flesh underneath before sticking into the wooden slab. The pervert convulses one last desperate time, the knife blade tearing into its skewered penis.

It screams and flails away its final moments.

~~~~~~~~~

A massive four poster bed with red silk curtains sits in the middle of the fake’s room. Baker worked from the den, the fake joining the zombie since we got home. The sounds and smells of two animals humping leaks out of the den. The servants have made themselves scarce, knowing better than to ask questions about the new woman who spent last night in the master’s bedroom. I dump Brutus’ backpack onto the red silk sheets: the fakes blood covered sweater, money, the gorilla's severed hand. The blood filled bag goes between the mattress and foundation for good measure.

~~~~~~~~~

I reenter the outbuilding with fresh clothing and acar jack. The lifeless meat pile lays in a congealing blood pool on the slab; its face twisted into an ashen grimace. The jack, with some effort jams between the dirt floor and wooden slab. I uncuff its ankles and wrist, unbinding the chains from the metal loops thenjack the wood slab into the air, the angle titling steeper towards the tarp with every thrust. The meat pile rolls off the slab, through the tarp into a hole when the angle gets severe enough. The tarp pulls into the hole with the body revealing dirt stacks pressed against the wall. I grab rags and a bleach bottle next to a shovel in the corner and get to work.

~~~~~~~~~

The difference between the overgrown pathway and woods becomes almost indiscernible in the late night blackness. If I’m not careful, I may end up lost for real in the countless acreage attached to the plantation. A helicopter with a blinding white searchlight whirls over head, combing the woods by the home. Dog barking and people talking comes from behind the house. The dogs whip into a frenzy as I emerge from the woods. Dozens of men’s thoughts ring in my head as I have trouble keeping them straight. Baker runs up, wrapping me in its arms. A policeman walks up behind Baker, standing over it’s shoulder. The burly man hands me a blanket that Baker helps wrap me in.

“Eko, where’s Brutus,” asked the police officer.

“I don’t know,” I quiver, turning on fake tears before wiping them away leaving a muddy streak on my cheek. “She asked to talk to him before locking me in that house in the woods.” Baker and the officer followed my finger to the Fake chatting with a young officer.

“That’s impossible,” said Baker, “She’s been with me all afternoon.” The officer walks over to the fake and they talk for a minute before coming over together. The fake takes a knee next to Baker, wrapping me in a hug before pulling my ear to its lips.

“Oh, you stupid little Eko, did you really think that would work,” she whispered before pulling away.

“I’m so glad you’re OK, I was so worried,” said the fake, performing to the men. The indistinguishable mumbling in the burly officers mind’s familiar. “We’ll be right back, I want to show this nice gentleman my room.”

~~~~~~~~~

Baker leans on the desk in the den, the burly police officer sits on the leather chair across from me. If the man seemed a bear when I was standing, he seems a giant from where I lay.

“Can you tell me, once again, where you’ve been the last six hours,” asked the detective. Its thoughts hide in a low rumbling; its mind an impenetrable fortress.

“I told you, the fat pervert locked me in the cabin in the woods,” I said.

“If you think he’s a fat pervert, why did you invite him over,” asked the detective.

“That fat pervert was the closest thing to a friend that I had,” I said, fake waterworks stream from my eyes. The detective heaves a sigh and rubs his temples.

“Detective, if you want to accuse my 12 year old daughter of murdering someone more than a foot taller than her and twice her weight then this conversation’s over. Otherwise get to the point,” said Baker.

“Let’s take everything at face value for a second. You go for a walk with Brutus in the woods, he locks you in the cabin. Your sister’s in here studying while your dad works. Then what? There’s no evidence he came home, where’d he go? Did he make a wrong turn and wander into the woods?

“There’s your answer, detective. He’s lost in the woods, now stop wasting our time and go find him,” said Baker.


	7. Big Sister’s Advice

Every eye turns on us as we enter the classroom. The hyena bares its teeth, her piggish friend laughs. Even military boy looks up from its study to stare before returning to its text. I sit at my desk in the corner, the fake drops its purse on its chair before walking towards the door.

“Where are you going,” I called after the imitation. It stops by my desk, with its nose turned up as though it were smelling manure.

“I’m going to the gym to watch the boys work out,” it said before waving a farewell. The fake walks past the old man with bushy eyebrows.

“Where are you going miss,” the old man calls after the fake. The imitation walks away without responding to the flustered man. The five animals loom over my desk like ring-wraiths.

“What did you do with Brutus, slut,” asked the Hyena.

“Did you kill him and use his guts in a potion,” asked the Pig.

“Where’s your slut sister,” said the Hyena, “Can’t even keep her legs closed long enough to wait out the morning bell.” The Hyena grabs my pencil case, pocketing my only means of writing.

~~~~~~~~~

The five animals sit together, three of the four remaining boys cluster around the fake’s chair. The military boy sits by himself, nose jammed in a book. The fake sits on its desk, the skirt’s opening at eye level. The boy ignores the inner thighs and panties sitting inches from its face. _Worship your goddess_ flashes into its mind but it doesn’t react. An image of the facsimile sucking on a penis enters the boys mind. Military boy looks up at the fake who smiles down at him.

“What do you want,” said the boy.

“You,” said the fake in a saccharine tone.

“Get the fuck off my desk,” said the boy before pushing the fake, it tumbles off the edge onto its butt. The facsimile looks up, a fake pouty lip quivering but the boy doesn’t see, the audio book runs in its mind.

~~~~~~~~~

The fake stares out the window as the luxury automobile glides down the highway. It always wears a smile plastered across its face, as though its brain’s a permanently idling car.

“Can you teach me to control boys like you,” I asked. The fake pulled its hand to its chest and left out an awkward guffawing laugh, like someone trying to mimic how they imagine royalty laughs.

“Oh, you’re serious. As if I could teach a stupid little echo like you to be more like a goddess,” said the fake.

“There must be something you can show me,” I implored.

“Fine, meet me in the cabin in the woods after dark if you want to learn something,” said the fake.

~~~~~~~~~

“Tomie, Tomie, Tomie” chanted through the run down field house’s door. Walking to the door’s like entering a toxic cloud. One man imagines strangling the fake while having sex with its helpless body. Another man imagines peeling the flesh off its feminine fingers with its teeth. Another dreams of Tomie tied to a rack, beating it with a cane as it screams into a red ball gag. The vivid barrage makes me light headed. How can the fake want to surround itself with this kind of vileness.

The front door skids open as I push my way into the room. The fake sits on a folding chair, a dozen men bowing at its feet.

“Tomie,” chants the group, moving in a hypnotic trance. The fake whispers _w_ _orship_ _m_ _e_ into each one’s mind, stimulating their pleasure centers, shocking them with ecstasy.

“Goddess,” calls out a worshiper.

“I Love you,” calls out another.

“My stupid little echo,” said the fake watching me squeeze through the door. The bowing men prostrate themselves to a lantern flame’s flickering.

“Who are these people,” I asked as the worshipers stop their supplication.

The imitation laughs its fake aristocratic laugh, the crowd follows a beat behind as though taking its queue from it. “Idiotic shadow, how foolish you really are. Didn’t you think I had a life before coming here?” The fake snaps and the worshipers jump to their feet, minds ablaze with a sudden unpierceable fire. The men grab my arms and hold them out strait to my side before I think to move. A man kicks my knee, the cartilage snapping like a twig. My leg goes numb instantly then another blow snaps my other knee. My legs buckle but I remain suspended by the goons holding my arms.

“You want to know the secret to my power,” asked the fake. It runs a hands through my hair as though to comfort me despite my obvious impending death. “As if a peasant could become a goddess. You want to have my power? Then suffer like you didn’t know you could.” The fake taps my nose with pliers then says, “Boop. Don’t worry little Echo, we won’t do anything to you that you can’t come back from.”

The fake clamps pliers on my nail while the goons hold arms tighter. A heavy force retracts the pliers, the flesh tearing as pain shoots through my hand and arm. My arm stiffens, the elbow burning from the pressure to keep it straight.

“You see Echo, men are like hungry dogs that need to be fed. They really want the Kobe beef, but they’ll settle for ground chuck. If I don’t give them you then like any dog that gets hungry enough they’ll turn on their master. Oh, I have plans for you,” said the fake. The pliers clamp on a whole finger tip. The fake violently jerks as the knuckle disconnects from the finger. The intense pain crashes into a numbness, a phantom pain for the finger that's no longer there. Blood leaks down the stump. A skinny man with a long serrated knife pulls at my feet as the fake lines up another finger. The man starts cuts through my Achilles tendon. The blistering pain in my hands and ankle drown out thought. The knife jolts to the bone when the tendon snaps. The man struggles to dislodge the knife and continue through the joint. It stomps the back of the blade then a loud crack as the blade travels through the broken bone, severing the remaining flesh. Another flash of nonresistance followed by a phantom presence. The man bites the top of the foot, tearing out flesh. Another man grabs for the foot but the man pulls it’s prize away.

A boy wearing a def leopard shirt picks the knife off the ground. The tip plunges into my shoulder blade, ripping flesh on its way out. The knife comes down again into my kidneys. Again and again the punk stabs into my back, perforating my skin, tearing my muscles to ribbons. A boy in khaki’s and a polo pushes the punk away. The boy straddles my hips, erection poking into my ass. It smells my hair then sinks its teeth into my neck’s soft flesh ripping off a pieces.

I scream, the wail shatters out of my throat like a shock-wave. It raises like water from a geyser. Cold steel shoots through my throat, blood pouring into my lungs in a wet, painful fire.

“Uh, uh, stupid little echo. There won’t be any of that,” said the fake Tomie, wagging a finger in my face that may have been my own. Everything goes dizzy, the world spins as things black in and out shutting down.


	8. Regrowth

The world feels like a dream. I’m a cloud floating in a room, no senses, only the firing of synapses. An amorphous pain swirl floating in the void. A vague sense of otherness, that I’m not the thing I should be. Everything distills, slowly the pain turns into colors that form pictures like dreams. The emotions turn into words, and the words turn into thoughts. My thoughts start basic, then everything floods back at once, as though my cells are geysers erupting knowledge into my brain.

Touch returns first. The pain concentrates into a puddle on the ground, a lump like a cancerous mole, no arms, no legs, nothing. Aflesh circle firing with the body’s emergency signals telling me something’s very wrong. The exposed flesh exaggerates normal variations: day feels like an oven, night feels like an ice bath.

Hearing returns next. The world gets louder as though someone turned the volume to max then kept spinning the dial until it broke off. A dull ringing escalates until I can hear the normally indiscernible revolution of nature: birds twittering, something moving in the bushes, the flight of wings. An animal pouncing, pitiless cries of its prey,a spider spinning a web, a leaf falling, rays of sunshine bombarding the roof. “She’s fine, she needs some time to process everything,” said a female voice somewhere. When the noise becomes unbearable, when existence cries so loud that I would rather cease to be then continue another moment, everything resets to normal.

Something leaks off the mass, growing downward. The constant pain swirl and extremes subside as my protective outer layer grows into place. My eyeballs flutter under flesh. Light pours in from the cracked open door. Colors bleed out of boundaries, everything’s fuzzy and indistinct, a distorted, Picasso-esc surrealism. Objects come into focus as my mind defines these fresh inputs. I can’t move my head, only my eyes. An orange metal folding chair with clothes sits in the room. Everything seems massive, as though it were made for giants.

The leaking mass’s exposed flesh burns in the air. The mass has grown large enough to support me tilting my head. Muscle, bones, and organs sits on the ground under my neck. An exposed heart beats on top of lungs in a half formed rib cage. The lungs billow air in through my mouth. I can taste particles on the air: dirt, black mold, water. Each flavor distinct and overwhelming. My mouth tastes like I’ve been licking the moss covered walls. The odors overwhelm: rotting meat, death, decay, fire, mold. My head burns with disgust, the earthy palate chokes my mouth, the death stench clamps my nose like a vice.

I lean up further, a black fire stain sits beyond the chair. A charred human skeleton in black silhouette. Two long thin offshoots like tree branches stick off my torso’s top. Pain shoots through my shoulder joints when I try to move them.

Complete blackness engulfs the room, my skin covered head and torso feel fine, the offshoots at my shoulders writhe in intense pain. Two offshoots like roots form at my lower torso. I wiggle my fingers for a second before the pain becomes too intense and I pass out for the night.

A red puss filled crater sits under my body. The dirt reeks of dead flesh. My fingers pull at the ground as I drag myself to the skeleton. A bloody mucus drags behind my listless legs like a slug trail. The fake burned my body. That night’s memories come back to me; the torture, the taunting, it telling me that I would recover from anything they did to me.

My legs finish forming, my senses return to their normal pitch. I can stand, walk, jump and run. My long black hair falls to my shoulders again as I stand naked and perfect in the dilapidated hovel. The extra large men’s shirt on the chair feels like wearing a tent. Orange letters on the front read “I’m with stupid” with an arrow pointing to my face.


	9. Servants

A skinny boy in black cargo shorts and a Daft Punk t-shirt sips a beer as I enter the kitchen in my oversize stupid shirt. The barefoot punk drags aroundmud and grass clippings. _Why does Tomie spend so much time with him_ it thinks as it paces. Mrs Tanaka stands at the servants entrance, hands at its side, bowed slightly towards the punk.

“Excuse me, young master, but if it pleases you, I can wash your feet,” said the bowed Maid. The boy throws its beer at the wall behind the servant. The bottle explodes into a million fizzy shards. The maid flinches as a beery glassy mist dampens its uniform back. Liquid leaks down a hole in the plaster.

“I spilled my beer, get me another one,” said the boy. The maid hurries to the fridge, gets another from the door, removes the top and gives it to the brooding punk. It continues pacing, thinking of the fake’s distractions. The boy should have been thinking of its own distractions as it tracked through the glass puddle, yelping and jumping back. The new beer fell, landing on the bottom with a foam fountain erupting from the neck. It grabs its foot, blood already leaking from the perforated stump.

A second boy enters the kitchen from the foyer. _Mmmm fun sized Tomie_ thinks the second boy as it picks up my T-shirt to see my exposed butt. I shock its crew cut mauled head and it flinches in pain to my surprisethen drops the shirt. “Hey numbnuts, clean up this mess you’re fucking up Tomie’s home,” said the second boy.

“Fuck you, Chester,” said the punk.

“What are you doing in here, Eko, go see your dad,” said Chester as it shoves me into the empty hallway. Faint thoughts fill the hallways above the stairs. Mr Wanatabe prunes an orange tree by the driveway, its thoughts oscillating between peaceful Bonsai images and anger at the locust swarm devouring the estate. Water leaks from a crack in the fountain’s base warping the boards by the stairs. The closet door underneath the right staircase creaks open. A hand has my wrist before I can see who it is and a thin but forceful grip pulls me into the closet.

The light clicks to life, the governess holds the metal bead chain dangling from the light fixture. A dumbfounded elongation to its lower jaw stupefies its already stupid face.

“You’re alive,” said the governess, grabbing my chin, jerking my head around to examine my face. “We all thought for sure you were dead. Mr Walton said you were off camping, but we didn’t believe him. A young lady such as yourself simply doesn’t disappear into the woods for three weeks.” Three weeks? I would have guessed three days, maybe a week at most. Was I really absent for the better part of a month? “Where are your clothes honey.”

“This is all she gave me. Who are those boys in the kitchen,” I asked.

“They’re vultures picking at the carcass that used to be your father. Your sister brought them. They don’t do anything but eat, drink and worship your sister. It’s absolutely terrifying. We need to contact your mother, she can’t let you stay here, not the woman I raised. She never got over leaving you here,” said the sour faced old crone. The closet door creaks open, the fake stands in the entrance, Chester over its shoulder.

“The faint little Eko’s finally done playing in the woods,” said the Fake before grabbing my arm, its fingers digging into the bicept’s soft flesh. “Your father wants to see you now.” The fake drags me out of the closet.

“I wasn’t done,” said the governess. A slap from Chester stops the words in its mouth. The woman looks at the boy with anger in its eyes but silence on its tongue. The fake drags me into the den where Baker sits behind a desk. Black puffy bags surround its eyes;the man’s cheeks suck into its skeletal face, It sinks into the chair under a lax posture.

“Eko, I’m so happy to see you again,” said the man who stands with difficulty when we approach the desk. _Be strict_ whispers into its thoughts. The momentary light flash extinguishes from its face as it slumps back into the chair. “I know you’re upset about your mother, and you needed some time and space. I was happy to oblige so long as you had your sister watching over you, but we need to seriously consider the consequences of your actions.” _Good boy_ whispers in its mind followed by a flush of pleasure. _Worship your goddess_ whispers the voice.

“You’re so lucky to have a sister as beautiful and compassionate as Tomie, she was really a godsend,” said the hapless loser.

“Oh, Baker, you’re too much,” said the fake.

“And that’s why I’m going to take her advice and give you what you want. You can continue spending the nights in the woods if, but you have to start attending school again.”

“But I don’t want to spend nights in the woods, I want to stay in my room,” I said to the zombie. _She’s lying_ whispers in its mind.

“Eko, it’s settled. I finally gave in to your request and you’re saying its not good enough. I’ve been more than generous with my offer.” It stands, scowling at me as it props itself up on the desk.

“We also need to discharge Mrs Saito. Eko’s a young lady now and doesn’t need an old woman watching over her every minute,” said the fake. _It’s a good_ _i_ _dea_ whispers in its head.

“It’s a good idea,” said the man.

“No, I don’t want her to go,” I said, stamping my feet. I shoot _no_ into its head with as much force as I can muster.

“No,” said the man. “I mean, I need to think about it. I’m tired now, why don’t you go find something to eat.”

The fake drags me out of the room by my arm while the anguished scarecrow sits again. Chester and the punk, seemingly over the bloody holes in its foot, stand by the grand staircase. Mrs Saito bangs on the closet door, pleading to be let out.

“Take this stupid little thing to its room,” said the fake. Each boy grabs an arm, dragging me through the kitchen door. I kick and twist but it does no good verses the grown men that can lift me off the ground. They drag me out of the house, down the porch steps and through the overgrown path. The sun’s began its final descent into the horizon, natural light barely lights the forest floor. They bring me to the cabin by the field again. A black sleeping bag lays on the floor next to neatly folded clothing,

“Those are for school. We’ll get you in the morning, until then nighty night,” said Chester. They heave me into the room, the wood door swings shut. Cinder blocks click as they stack up behind the door, locking me in. I slam my shoulder into an unflinching wall.

~~~~~~~~~

The Bently glides into the drop off lane by the school’s main entrance. The governess watches me from the rear view mirror. The fake watches the governess. The hyena walks towards the school next to a tall boy wearing a jacket embroidered with Lakeland’s insignia. The boy’s too old to be a student but too young to be faculty. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and rush out the door to the sidewalk as the two catch up. _Who’s this_ thinks the man.

“Oh good, look who’s back,” said the Hyena. “You done throwing your temper tantrum in the woods, baby?” _Defend me_ I implant in its head followed by pleasure.

“That’s not nice, Jude,” said the man as the pair walked on. The fake stands next to me. _Look at your Goddess_ whispers into its mind. The man looks over its shoulder at me.

“Ah, looks like stupid little Eko made a stupid little friend,” said the imitation. Pain rattles the man as it grabs its head.

~~~~~~~~~

“Every day,” military boy said to the fake sitting on the boys desk at lunch, “you come bother me and every day I tell you to get lost. Take a fucking hint. You already have three friends to keep you company.”

“But I want you to come over too, you must be so lonely,” said the fake as it probes military boy’s resistant mind.

“Let me be in charge of my own loneliness and leave me alone,” said the boy. It pushes the fake off its desk and goes back to a book. The fake storms out of the classroom despite the old crone in the front’s objections.

“What was that about,” I asked the military boy. _Oh great, her too_ thought the boy.

“Every day she comes up to me during lunch, plops on my desk and asks me to join her. And every day I tell her to fuck off,” said the boy.

“She’s as persistent as she is ugly. What do you mean everyday,” I said to the boy, putting the governess’s lesson to use.

“Ugly? You could describe her as a lot of things but not that. You know, she came in to take notes for you when you were sick, or hiding in the woods or whatever,” said the military boy before going back to its book.

~~~~~~~~~

Chester drives the car that afternoon. The boy chats ceaselessly with the disinterested fake the whole car ride home. Mrs Tanaka, Mr Wantanabe, and Mrs Wantanabe stand on the porch next to suit cases. Baker stands at the front door, hunched over a cane, its normally straight back twisted in an arch like the hunchback of Notre Dame. Baker beckonsChester to come over. The boy stops the car in the cul-de-sac and accompanies the Fake and myself to the stairs.

“What’s going on Boss,” said Chester.

“I need you to take Mrs Tanaka and the Wantanabes to Jacksonville Airport,” said Baker with a wheeze in its breath. _Make them stay_ whispers in Baker’s head.

“Is there anything I can do to get you to stay,” asked Baker. Mr Wantanabe bowed toward Baker.

“I regret to inform you there’s not,” said Mr Wantanabe. _Make them stay_ the voice shouted in its head; Baker winces at the volume.

“Can you at least tell me why you’re leaving, maybe we can figure something out,” said Baker.

“It’s not my place to speak ill of children,” said Mr Wantanabe before bowing further and coming upright. “My sister’s expecting us at the airport and I fear if we miss our flight she may call the police.” Mr Wantanabe watches the fake, a cloud of fear covering its mind.

“Have a peaceful trip, Mr Wantanabe,” said Baker. They carry the luggage to the trunk as Baker hobbles into the house. Several boys block the front door, while the fake and I watch Chester load their luggage.

“Bed time,” said the impostor. “You might want some time to meet your new roommate before going to sleep.” Two goons descend on me, grabbing my arms, dragging me around the porch. Resistance would only cause me injury so I walk peacefully with them. The cabin doorlays open, the governess’s corpse sits tied to a chair. A metal wire digs red welts into its soft neck flesh. It’s face turned an ashen mix of blue, red and white. The corpse stinks like shit baking in an oven. The boys grip my arms harder as I pull back from the entrance. They throw me into the cabin and its overwhelming shit stench. The door shuts behind me, locking the room in almost total darkness. The blocks pile up behind the door.


	10. Leave

The corpse’s outline becomes visible in the darkness: it’s anguished face barely traceable at close range. A rotten flesh odor replaces the shit smell of a few days ago. The swollen body’s expanded beyond the limits of its tight bands; the ropes tear into the soft flesh. Blood and water drip from open wounds around the ligatures. The liquid pools at the chair’s base, a little stream collects in my sleeping bag. I sit against the far wall and run my hand against the aged, rotten boards. The dirt’s hard, unforgiving. My finger tips explode with pain when I jam them into the dirt.

I test along the wall’s base, searching for softer soil. A place where the rain pools outside the wall or an animal’s started a burrow. Mud clings to my knees when I crawl over a wet spot. Rot softens the wood in the corner opposite the door. The boards push beyond the wall. The soil beneath the wall has some give. The charred skeleton’s thigh bone makes a serviceable shovel. I dig at the earth, loosening and pushing aside what I can. The night melts away under the strain of carving a small hole into the unforgiving earth. The punk and Chester’s thoughts come up the path. I throw the dirt covered thigh bone into the charred pit. The cinder blocks clink as they unpile them. I throw the sleeping bag on my work and pretend to sleep as the door opens. The punk stands with its hands over its eyes, the flood of light blinds me.

“Bite sized,” said Chester, its thoughts occupied by memories of worshiping the fake, “time for school.”

“You filthy bitch,” Chester said when I approach from the corner, my body and hands covered in dirt. Blood and puss all over my clothing. It slaps my face, my cheek bursting with pain. “Now you need a shower and we’re all going to be late.”

Chester grabs my hair directing where I walk as though it was holding a lever at the back of my head. It drags me down the over grown path towards the sound of breaking glass at the house. Two boys stand on the driveway’s edge, throwing peebles through windows. The mansion resembles a smile missing half its teeth. Several shutters have fallen off. The unmowed lawn stretches in disordered lengths. Chester throws me into the driveway, my palms scrape into bloody lines when I catch myself.

“Undress her,” Chester said to the window breakers. _Tomie is going to be pissed_ thinks Chester lookingat the windows before walking to the garage’s side. Hands pin me to the ground before I can scramble to my feet. I kick as a window breaker peels my pants and panties off. It removes my top as Chester drags a hose and nozzle. A jet stream shoots from the nozzle, stinging my body as the boy sprays me down.

~~~~~~~~~

The imitation left its purse next to my desk during its daily attempts to seduce the campus’s boys. The hyena scrolls around a smart phone’s screen while the man whose mostly eyebrows bumbles its way through a lecture. The imitation’s wallet is fat with money. I remove several hundred dollar bills before throwing the purse back on the chair. The contents from my backpack fit neatly into the desk’s compartment. Mr Derrick watches me approach the digital blackboard.

“What is it Ms Kawakami,” asked the man holding a digital pen. _Wh_ _ere’_ _s your worthless sister_ thinks the man.

“I’m supposed to meet Principle Maddie and my father to discuss placement,” I said to Mr Derrick. _No one told me_ thinks the scowling codger. _You must have forgot_ I implant in its mind.

“Oh that’s right, silly me, it slipped my mind,” said the old man as it filled out a yellow square.

A school designed to keep people out can have a blind spot for keeping people in. An emergency exit by the stairs locks on the outside but remains open-able from the inside. The senior quad has grass and hedges interspersed with picnic tables. I disappear into the woods, heading to the eastern fence, walking parallel to the main road. A fence lined with barbed wire lines the entire property. The fence is taller than I imagined, the barbed wire runs the top in three thick strands among posts. My feet and hands fit easily into the fence’s large rings. The barbs cut deep into my palms, red liquid drips as I pull myself to the top. The fence rattles when I jump off the wire. My knees give as I collide with the ground, rolling on my side.

Red spots speckle my muddy clothes. I follow the rush of cars on the busy road until I reach a sidewalk. The Rosebriar Mall sits a quarter mile down the road.

~~~~~~~~~

I return to the fence an hour later backpack pregnant with goods: a disposable cell phone with minute plan, multiple batteries, hand shovel, wire cutters, change of clothing, and flashlight with spare batteries. I stand on the fence, holding onto the barbed wire post while cutting the bottom wire with the cutters. The tension slacks in the cable as the wire falls to the side. The middle wire falls followed by the top wire. I sling my legs over the top then descend to the ground. Dirt and blood covers my hands but the wounds have healed. My dirty, blood stained clothes go into a heap by the fence. I dress into the fresh clothing, trying to not get them dirty.

Traveling west takes me to the long driveway leading to the entrance. A sleepy security guard sits in a booth at the building entrance. I smile and wave as I enter. _Where did that student come_ _from_ it thinks as it waves back.

_I must have been sleeping_ I implant in its mind.

“Go right ahead miss,” the sleepy guard says. _I better not have her sign in_ it thinks before picking up a newspaper and leaning back.

The old lady waits on its stool by the bathroom entrance. The bloody mud wash off my hands in a brownish black sludge, staining the sink’s side. Several soap filled minutes of lather, rinse repeat in scolding hot water leaves my hands clean but pink. The lady gives me a towel with a smile. I dry my already creamy white hands before handing it back.

“Have a blessed day, miss,” said the old woman.

The skinny lunch crone stands in the classroom front. I hand the teacher my slip from Mr Eyebrows and the woman throws it into the trash without looking at it. The fake’s chair remains empty by my desk.

~~~~~~~~~

Two men in suits stand on the porch of the decaying plantation manor. A portly man holding a large manila envelope speaks to the punk in the doorway. Two other boys watch them at the porchsteps. The man’s beet red face spits out words. The tall skinny man beside him watches the two boys at the stairs. The fake bounds from the car once we pull into the cal-de-sac and I follow.

“I demand to see Baker immediately,” said the portly fellow. _Fucking punks_ thinks the man.

“Fuck off old man before we hurt you,” said the punk, folding its arms.

“You can’t threaten me young man, I went to Nam where punks like you pissed themselves. You tell Baker to come out or I’m calling the police,” said the man.

“Our assistants know we’re here,” stammered out the other man, “and if something happens to us, they’ll call the police too.”

“Gentleman,” said the fake, “there’s no need to worry about theseworms, they’re the new grounds crew we hired since the Wantanabes left. Let me go get Baker” The fake floods the punk’s mind with pain, it grabs at its head. The fake pets the other boy’s minds, pleasure flushing through them as they praise the fake in their thoughts. The fake pushes past the anguished boy into the house. Baker hobbles out the front door, hunched over its cane.

“Jesus, Baker, you look like shit old boy,” said the tall man, “who are all these boys?”

“The Wantanabes, Mrs Saito and Mrs Tanaka left. I’ve hired some of Tomie’s friends to help around the house until we can find suitable replacements,” wheezed out the man who seemed to struggle to stand. _Good boy, Worship your Goddess_ whispered into its mind. “I’m just so lucky my beautiful daughter Tomie’s here to help me.”

“This was only a big misunderstanding,” said the fake.

“You need to go see a doctor, old boy,” said the skinny man.

“Is that why you came here, to give me some unwanted medical advice,” said Baker.

“No, we’re here on official business,” said the tomato man. “You haven’t been seeing to your duties. I have an emergency order from the Board of Directors putting you on immediate leave and appointing a temporary executive director while you figure whatever this is out. Go see a doctor, go on vacation. Figure your shit out. You haven’t been the same since Rin left.”

~~~~~~~~~

The Hyena sits at its desk cluster, chatting with the other barnyard animals, its cellphone hanging from its hoodie’s pocket. Only a simple dot grid stands between me and the information I require. The fake sits in its own desk cluster waiting for Laramie and the two other boys to return. Larmie stands over military boy, the two boys hanging behind him. _Bring him back my pet_ whispers into its mind. A similar message rolls through the other boys’ minds.

“Why don’t you join us,” said Larmie, the military boy looks at it. _With that creepy bitch_ thinks military boy. The fake tries to shock military boy but he doesn’t seem to notice. _Join us_ whispers in its mind.

“I’m not going anywhere near that psycho creep,” said Wallace loud enough for the class to hear. The animals stop talking to look at the unfolding confrontation. _Defend your goddess_ I whisper into track boy’s mind.

The fake looks at me for a second before returning to the boys.

“Shut up, she’s my friend,” said track boy. _Shove him_ I whisper into its mind. Track suit Laramie pushes military boy who jumps to it’s feet and shoves Laramie. _Stop them_ whispers into the two other boys’ heads. Tracksuit boy flies into the Hyena’s desk before the other boys step in, one grabbing Laramie and one military boy. Military boy pulls out of its grip and shoves the boy to the ground. The hyena doesn’t notice me stand, or pull its phone out of the pocket as I walk to the classroom entrance.

“Can I go to the bathroom,” I asked the frantic crone holding a phone. It waves me on.

“This is Classroom 10-a, we have a fight in progress, 4 boys send help,” said the woman as I disappear into the hallway towards the bathroom. The old lady half sleeps by the entrance but manages a smile and a wave while I walk to the stall.

Simple passwords for simple minds and I unlock the phone. I scroll through the hyena’s mindless text messages before coming across one from ICE Dale reading: What do you want to get Mom and Dad for their Anniversary. I copy the contact information into my phone, remove the toilet tank and drop the phone into the water.

~~~~~~~~~

The cabin’s worse at night with a flashlight. The Governess’ rancid, decaying flesh crawls with maggots as flies jump around the body. Watery pink puss drips like a leaky faucet off the bloated flesh.The maggots swarm around the room like large white ants from a five foot hill. They crawl on my sleeping bag and track dirt all over the small clothes pile. The fake must know eating’s only performative for me, something I do to fit in with the sheep I’m forced to surround myself with because it never feeds me. Unless the fake believes I would eat this putrid flesh mound. I hold my hand to my chest and let out a fake, mocking aristocratic laugh, an imitation of an imitation.

The cell phone reads 1:00am Saturday. A feces pile rests in the corner on urine soaked ground. At least the crap smell’s overpowered the rotting governess, that is until a gas bubble explodes in a sudden putrefying meat breath that lingers on the air, coating my nose and tongue.

“Hi,” sits in the text message box for the Hyena’s brother. I delete the message and replace with “Hey.” I don’t know how to sound as vapid and useless as the girls at school nor do I have a desire to. “Hey” disappears to be replaced with “what’s up.” That message is deleted as well. Why do people participate in stupid mating rituals like birds spreading their feathers and strutting around. I position the flashlight so it shines where I’m sitting then peal off my dirt encrusted silk pajama bottoms. My legs spread apart. My cellphone flashes, then with a swooshing noise the vagina picture sends out.

“Who this,” came back almost immediately.

“I know your sister. I think you’re passably attractive,” I wrote back, buttering him up with compliments.

“Do I know you,” wrote the boy. The phone powers down then I pick up the shovel. Always leave them wanting more. The hole’s growing but still not big enough to fit through. Thankfully the wall’s boards don’t run into the ground. The exterior ground requires me to reach into the hole, bang soil loose with the shovel then scoop it out. The shovel breaks through the crust of the ground outside.

~~~~~~~~~

Dirt piles clutter the floor and stain my hands black. The hole has to be much larger than I thought to squeeze into the underbrush encroaching on the building’s side. Moonlight illuminates the forest floor from the opening over the unfarmed meadow. My lungs invite fresh air in desperate spasms as putrid air billows out of the hole. The phone powers on for the first time since last night. The black brick vibrates constantly as new messages flood into my chat.

“Who’s this/ really who’s this/ why so shy/ what’s going on/ what’s your name/ do I know you/ why are you ghosting/ just looking at your picture,” said the stream of stupidity. The message train ends with a video of a hand clasping a penis. The hand rubs it in a vigorous up and down stroking motion until it ejaculates.

“Oh wow, thats…” unimpressive, inappropriate, gross, “great,” I write then send. A small yellow face with a winking eye returns almost immediately. “You’ve seen me before, but you don’t know me,” I send.

“Where,” wrote back the college boy.

“I’ll call you later,” I wrote back.

“Later, its like 12pm,” he sent. I reach into the hole and place the cell on the sleeping bag then follow the overgrown path in complete darkness guided by a massive fire’s crackling. The house appears in silhouette surrounded by an ambient yellow glow. Dozens of voices filter in and out of my mind, all whispering Tomie in unison, all being flushed with pleasure.

A massive fire burns in the cal-de-sac, two boys carry my old desk out the front door and throw it onto the fire. The imitation sits atop a scaffolding on a tall, slender throne. Boys prostrate themselves at the scaffolding base, bowing into the ground. “Tomie” chants swell over the cracking fire, only to die down again behind the inferno’s pops and hisses. Two boys clutch the front scaffolding legs, looking up at the impassive fake. The fake stares ahead, concentrating on the effort to stimulate so many boys at once. I peek my head around the porch’s corner. A weak mental voice whispers out of the corner window. “Tomie” mutters Baker’s feeble mind. I push the curtain aside in my broken window. Baker sits on a metal folding chair in the servant bedroom. The man’s chin rests on its chest as it keeps upright with a cane. The man’s twisted spine resembles a camel’s back. Baker’s tight, translucent flesh clings to its skeleton, a black sunken face ebbing in fire light waves. It shutters as a tidal wave of pleasure drowns it’s mind.

The fake breaks out of it’s trance and looks at the boys. The imitation stands, lifts its handsand the boys stand with it. The boys crush up against the scaffolding’s legs.

“How about some entertainment,” suggests the fake. The boys form a circle. Chester enters in a polo and khakis before pulling off its shirt. Another man, much taller and muscular, enters the ring. Chester puts up its fists as though it were boxing, and the muscular boy cracks its knuckles. “Go” whispers into their minds. Chester enters the other’s guard, punching into its flank. The muscular boy throws a lumbering punch that it dodges. Chester follows up with a knee to the groin that takes the muscular boy to its knees. The crowd cheers as it knees the downed man’s face. The muscular boy’s nose crumples into its skull, blood shooting from the severed bridge and nostrils before hurtling violently backward. Chester straddles the unconscious man, wailing away at its face. The punk tackles the boy to the ground. The crowd breaks into a melee. Their thoughts meld into a cloud of pain, anger and ecstasy that covers everything.

~~~~~~~~~

I crawl through the hole at the cabin base and grab my phone. The phone rings before a man answers.

“Hello, stranger,” said the man.

“Hello, Dale,” I responded. “How are you doing today?”

“I’m tired but also curious,” said the man. “Who are you? I’m not great at guessing faces based on vaginas so you’re going to have to help me.”

“My name’s Tomie, I’m in your sister’s grade, I’ve seen you walking with her,” I said.

“Tomie,” said the daft boy as though I just poseda riddle. “I’ve heard my sister mention your name. Did you get my number by stealing her phone and throwing it into the toilet.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just searched for it on the internet,” I said. The boy laughs. “I saw you walking with your sister, she said some unpleasant things to me. Empty words from an empty head. I don’t let the words of barnyard animals bother me.” I hold my hand to my chest, tilt back my head and perform the aristocratic laugh I learned from the fake. My display of confidence and benevolence will undoubtedly impress it.

“You know you’re talking about my sister right. What do you want from me,” asked the boy.

“I just want to talk, but I would prefer to meet in person. Can you come by and pick me up tonight and maybe we can go get coffee or something.

“I guess that’s not too big of an ask,” said the boy.

“Whatever you do don’t ring the bell or enter the gate, I’ll just come meet you on the main road by the driveway entrance,” I proposed a reasonable request.

“Uh,” responded the boy.

~~~~~~~~~

The massive ash pile obstructs the driveway’s center, staining it black and rendering it undrivable. Every light in the mansion illuminates glassless windows. Boys mill about the study, vestibule and kitchen, swigging from brown bottles. Their mind’s chatter distant and hard to follow. Baker sits on the livingroom floor at the immitation’s chair. The fake runs its fingers through the man’s hair. Unharvested oranges lay around the tree bases along the driveway, a slippery sludge that makes traversing the outer edges difficult.

Beer cases, empty cans and garbage litter the three car garage. The filthy scratch covered Bentley sits in the right stall. A large Craftsman tool chest lays on its side, tools strewn about the floor. Boxes and furniture from the house crowd the garage, the only opening runs to a rear slop sink. I turn my flashlight on the lowest setting to navigate the mess. My phone screen lights up when I plug it into an outlet by the sink. The sink spits out air before a water stream trickles out the faucet. I strip off my disgusting pajamas before sticking my hands into the water, the black dirt and grime melts away. The cool water feels amazing on my face and hair, the muck layer that coated my skin like makeup all weekend finally dissolving away.

I turn off the water in time to hear thoughts mumbling at the garage entrance. The slurring, incoherent thoughts are garbled like a drunk’s speech. I grab my flashlight and phone before diving behind a chest. The door opens followed by the lights flicking on. My charger dangles from the outlet by the sink. A movie of the boy strangling the imitation runs in its head. Hands wrapped around its delicate neck as sharp, bulging eyes stare into the void.

A case of beer topples over, a few bottles shatter as the rest clink and roll across the floor.

“Shit,” said the boy. A flash of red fire in its mind, a bottle explodes on the wall by the door. Feet shuffle towards me, the voice and fire grow louder. I crawl under a desk and pull a box in front of me. The furniture and boxes create a nook by the sink where I’m still visible but partially hidden. The punk swaggers to the sink then pulls down its fly, removes its penis and urinates into the sink.

The boy looks around the room, the charger catching its eye. _Someone left their charger_ thought the boy. Do I dare implant an impulse into its mind. If the imitation hears she’ll know I’m out. If the boy finds me it will be even worse.

“Shit,” it says again pissing on its fly distracted by the charger. The boy looks down, gazing momentarily in my direction but its thoughts remain on the urine soaked pants. The punk stumbles towards the door, not bothering with it’s fly. The boy grabs a beer case before exiting. I put on fresh clothing before shoving my dirty pajamas into my backpack. The charger goes into an outer pouch.

The rear exit leads to the massive unkempt lawn. The three car garage eclipses me from the house as I walk to the woods. The flashlight helps me navigate the dense woods. I climb over the compounds perimeter fence and follow it until I find the driveway gate. A red Mustang idles at the driveway entrance, its headlights facing the estate. The locks pop open and I enter the passenger side. Dale smiles as I sit down.

“Thank god, I was half expecting the mafia to steal my kidneys,” said the boy. _What am I doing this girl is a little kid_ thought Dale. _Worship your goddess_ I implant in its head.

“You look pretty tonight,” said the man. _Good Boy_ I implant with a wave of pleasure. The man shifts the car into gear and does a K-Turn.

“Where do you want to go,” asked the man. _Oh god, I’m going to jail_ thought the man. _Worship your Goddess_ I implant. “There’s something about you, that’s so intriguing.” Another pleasure wave and it shudders.

“Intriguing enough to go to jail over,” I said with a mock aristocratic laugh but it just looks grave. “Oh lighten up you silly little boy.” The graveness melts into a smile. _Good Boy_ I implant.


	11. Back Against the Wall

“Oh God, I can smell it through the door,” said a boy as cinder blocks click away from the door pile. I sit with my back against the wall, clothing in my lap as the brainless simpletons struggle through their brainless task. “Seriously, I’m going to puke.” Click. Click. They’re tearing down my wall to drag me into a world of terror like a reverse Cask of Amontillado.

“Shut the fuck up or puke and get back to work,” said Chester. Chester fantasizes about hitting the punk in the head with a cinder block. _Don’t puke Don’t Puke_ repeats in the punks head. The clicking stops and the door rattles. I reposition to the entrance and squint my eyes readying for the first natural light I’ve seen in three days. The light pours in as the door swings open, a fresh breeze wafts into my face. The punk gags then runs into the woods followed by a retching vomit. _Pussy_ thinks Chester. The blinding light forces me to close my eyes when I exit. A hand grabs my arm and drags me towards the overgrown path.

A boy pushes the half burned wood pile out of the cul-de-sac with a shovel. The metal head grinds and screeches as it rubs against the black stained concrete. At least two dozen boys hang around the porch. Their minds smolder like a collective fire about to start, dull red embers rising in waves before dying down again.

“Get undressed and put your clothes to the side,” said Chester, picking up the hose. The crowd burst into flames before dying down again. The agitated boys shift around in anticipation.

“Can I shower inside? I won’t run away. You can even watch if you’re that kind of pervert,” I said.

“Take off your clothes or take a shower with them on, I don’t give a fuck,” said the agitated boy, visions of strangling me with the garden hose in its head. I stripped naked as the crowd hoots and hollers, the fire taking hold again. A wave of pain dumps on the crowd like a water bucket dousing a camp fire.

“Everyone back inside, not time,” yelled the Fake from the front door. The crowd mumbles its discontent before seizing under a fresh wave and entering the house.

“Go ahead” said the imitation, watching from the porch. The water stream hits my face like a fire hose knocking me to the ground. Chester sprays my face and body, the imitation smiling.

~~~~~~~~~

Military boy stares at a book, seized by an anger that prevents it from reading. _I’ll kill you_ it thinks watching the imitation follow me through the door. The imitation twists its face into that hideous contortion it calls a smile and approaches military boy.

“Wallie, so nice to see you again,” said the Imitation. The boy stares at it.

“My name’s Wallace and how dare you,” said military boy. _Worship your Goddess_ whispers in its head but nothing happens. A pain wave but it doesn’t react.

“Oh lighten up Wallie, I show up to your house once uninvited and you act like I killed your dog,” said the fake.

“You did kill my dog,” said military boy.

“That was an accident,” said the fake. The smile broadenes into a dead eyed, vacant stare.

“And was telling my parents you’re my fiancee an accident,” fumed Military boy. The conversation catches Laramie’s attention. _I wish Tomie_ _wanted me that much_ thought the track suit kid.

“Oh Wally, you need to learn to take a joke,” said the imitation, giggling into its hand’s side before walking out of the room. The military boy looks at me when I approach.

“You come to harass me, too,” asked the boy.

“You and I have a common problem, I would like to talk to you about. What’s your phone number,” I asked the boy who watched me with suspicion.

~~~~~~~~~

A chattering lump squeaks its way up my urine and rat poop speckled sleeping bag. A rat carries a grayish flesh chunk from the seated corpse. It’s eyes shine red in the flashlight beam. The rat stands on its hind legs, chewing the chunk in its paws, watching me. Rats chewed holes in my sleeping bag, matting spots the floor. Three red holes mar the governess’s face; rats chewed out the corpse’s eyeballs and nose. Fresh liquid pools at the chair base as rat torn holes dot the body’s bloated flesh. A rat stands at attention on the corpse’s chest when I shine the light towards it. Black blood stains the fur around its face and whiskers. It returns to the chest hole, feasting again on its soft breast tissue.

I press the phone to my ear in time to hear the ringing stop.

“What do you want,” said the military boy.

“Isn’t this the part where you say, Hello Tomie. So nice to hear your voice again,” I corrected the rude boy. The dense boy can’t take a hint so I continue, “You and I have the same problem,” the blood covered rat chewing flesh off the governess stops eating and looks around when I talk, “I believe it would benefit you if we could work together at solving this problem.”

“You’re sister,” said the boy of few words.

“Yes, the ugly, stupid and somewhat insane thing that calls itself my sister. I see you reading military books all the time, do you know any practical applications? Like how to make a bomb,” I asked. The insolent fool chuckled.

“Ok, FBI, is that really why you called? You’re just as insane as she is. I’m sorry for whatever your situation is, she stole your make up or whatever, but I’m not going to jail over it,” said the boy. The line goes dead. I push my backpack through the hole and climb out after it.

The mansion’s a hive of smoldering coals walking around the corridors. The fake screams at one particularly hot fire in the vestibule by the stairs. I lean against the wall outside the study.

“Get away from me you insignificant insect,” shouts the fake. Glass shatters in the vestibule.

“I love you, my goddess,” yelled the boy. The other coals stop floating around the mansion and attract to the vestibule.

“Get your hands off me,” screamed the fake. A flesh on flesh sound slaps out the window. The other coals run towards the pair, the fake screams again. “Just don’t stand there, get this thing off me.” A loud crashing noise as two boys tackle the one attacking the fake. The den door opens then slams shut. Baker, practically a candy cane, lets out a hacking cough hunching over its desk. Someone bangs on the den door.

“You fucking slut,” shouts the boy as it wails away, “Come out here.” The boy bangs again before a metallic clank precedes a dull thud. Baker clears its throat.

“Do we need to call the police,” spits out the man.

“Everything’s fine, my love,” said the imitation. A heavy pleasure ripples through its mind. “We need to talk about Eko. She told me she wants to be alone in the woods again for a few weeks.”

“Again, so soon? But its almost the end of the school year, can’t she just finish out the year,” asked Baker. _Let her go_ whispers into Baker’s mind. “Can she not at least finish the week?”

“I’ll talk to her again,” said the fake.

~~~~~~~~~

The picnic table’s wooden slots dig into my back aswe lay on the surface looking at the stars. The cloudless night displays a vast cosmic array. Dale’s head lays next to mine, looking up at the sky. It’s thoughts continue to focus on our ages, it’s legal jeopardy, questioning its own decisions and sanity.

“What are we doing,” asked the man. I turn my head from the heavens to look in its eyes.

“We’re watching the stars,” I said before returning to the sky.

“No, I mean us, you and me. This isn’t legal or right,” said Dale.

“We aren’t doing anything illegal,” I said. _Worship your Goddess_ I implant in its head followed by pleasure.

“It’s like I can’t stay away from you, every thought in my head tells me this is a bad idea but its like I’m addicted,” said the man. Why can’t I produce the same effect as my worthless imitation? How can that dollar store rip off have such a profound intoxicating effect while the real one can barely make ripples in the surface.

“You can shut up now,” I said. _Look me in the eyes_ I implanted and the boy listens. It’s eyes are like a tunnel to its mind. I crawl through a narrow cave carved into a mountain, its mind’s words echo around, thoughts paint the walls. The vast tunnel network spits into a cave. A small fire, a grain of sand sits on the floor. The fire burns my hand like a pin prick. It glows red when I gently blow, swelling before settling down, slightly larger than before.

Dale groans and smiles. I blow on the ember again and it swells, burning my palm. The ember falls to the ground as Ishake my hand. A moan blows around the cave like a wind. It’s pants are growing tight, I hear whispers of discomfort. My lungs gasp in as much as I can handle before unleashing my breath onto the ember. The fire flares larger, the size of a baseball. The moan blows into a howl, then the feeling of release. A flood of pleasure and shame. The walls shutter; it’s orgasming. The man blankly stares as intense pleasure ebbs all over its body. The fire grows to a softball, a basketball, a camp fire. I sit up as it lays there, looking up at me. A swell in its pants twitching.

~~~~~~~~~

The fake sits on Military boy’s desk, he ignores her for a treatise on troop deployment strategies in semitropical areas. The imitation probes its mind with the efficiency of someone sticking their arms into acid. The fake knocks over a soda can. The brown bubbly liquid glugs all over the desk, covering the book and running off onto its lap.

“Oh no,” said the fake. Angry thoughts rage in the boys head. The imitation jogs to the rooms front with an exaggerated feminine gate that screams look at my ass. The boy ignores her trying to save his book from the soaking sugar water. The fake returns with paper towels then gets down on its knees facing the boy. The class watches this skit. The fake aggressively rubs military boy’s crotch to the Hyena’s amused snickering. The boy’s deer in headlights expression twists into shock when it realizes the whole class is watching. The boy jumps to its feet, knocking over the knock off.

“I can take care of this myself,” said the boy, storming to the front then disappearing out the door. The fake stands, brushing itself off.

“Why do you bother,” I called to the imitation and it walks to me. “A lowly, insignificant worm like that boy. What does it matter that you can’t move it? Why would you care if someone so worthless and stupid isn’t attracted to you? One ugly simple boy that doesn’t think you worthy and you lose your mind.” The imitation follows it out the door.

~~~~~~~~~

The military boy sits at its desk, placing its head on it’s folded arms. It thinks of banging on a door surrounded by cleaning supplies and tools. The door opens and the imitation walks in followed by two muscular boys standing a heads length taller. Military boy tries pushing through; a scuffle ensues. A jock punches its lip and military boy hits the floor. It crawls between their legs, pushing through and the imitation falls down. The two boys bumble around, unable to properly navigate the tiny cluttered room. Military boy gets to its feet and runs, not looking back.

The classroom door flies open, connecting with the wall. The imitation stumbles in naked from the waist down, blood staining its thighs. The fake’s bra hangs out of a torn collar. Tears run down the imitations blood smeared face. Three boy’s minds flare up. The military boy raises its head. The fake points at the boy, without saying a word then falls to the ground.

The military boy jumps to its feet, frantically looking around the nine faces looking at him. “No, I didn’t do that,” said the boy backing away. The three other boys stand. “No, it wasn’t me,” said the boy, its back connecting with the wall. The three boys rush military boy, taking it to the ground. The boy doesn’t fight back as its captors pin it. “I didn’t do anything.”

~~~~~~~~~

The car idles in a gas station convenience store parking space. Dale watches mefrom the drivers seat with a dopey ear to ear smile. The almost entirely glass building frontage spills bright illumination into the parking lot. A balding man in a green vest watches us from a central island counter.

“Do it again,” said Dale with blank eyes fixed on me, its pants a white stain soaked embarrassment. We just finished several hours of stroking its mind’s fire; the man’s mind rotten fruit sitting in its brain box. This level of manipulation is draining. Sleep’s always been a way to skip the unproductive hours at night but now I need to use the task for something else.

“Not now, I’m too tired,” I said. Dale’s disappointment flared into angry red hot thoughts. An addict denied its favorite drug. My phone vibrates in my backpack’s outer pouch. I remove it and answer.

“You have to know I didn’t do it,” said the military boy. “You have to come forward, back me up on this. Tell them about your sister.”

“I thought you said she wasn’t your problem,” I said lifting my chin in the air: hoping my indignation travels through the phone and smacks the stupid boy. My slack jawed date watches me. A pleasure wave shudders through it’s zombie mind.

“I know how to do that thing you asked,” said the military boy.

“Good, I’m out right now, I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said, hanging up the phone. Dale convulses as I exit the vehicle, a confused, dumbfounded look takes over its face as I walk into the store.

“I was beginning to wonder if you planned on coming in,” said the old man. The old man thinks of a recent fishing trip: sinking a line as it sips a beer. The sparse automotive section disappoints me. I grab the three remaining gallon gas cans and head to the household section. I take two lighter fluid bottles and head for the check out.

“What do you need all this stuff for,” asked the old man as it rings up the goods.

“Do you ask all your customers why they need things,” I asked the man. _Stupid brat_ thought the man.

“I’m just making small talk,” said the man. “It’s not every day a little girl comes in at 4am and clears me out of gas cans.”

~~~~~~~~~

The normal hive of activity’s stopped. The boys lay all around the house, mostly clustered on the second floor. Dreams seep out of the house like water from a resting sponge. One boy’s awake in the dining room thinking of the Fake and me. The vestibule, stairs and upper hallway look empty from the porch window; the two closets and kitchen doors closed. The front door swings open. I grab two gallon containers in one hand, one container in the other and press both lighter fluid cans to my hips with my elbows. I pull keys out of my pocket and unlock the door under the left staircase. Red gas cans, charcoal bags, propane tanks and every flammable object I could scour from the property centralized into an overflowing heap. I lock the handle and close the door again. The boy in the dining room walks towards the kitchen. I fumble with the gas cans and lock, opening the right door as it reaches the kitchen door. The closet door swings open and I jump in just in time for the boy to enter the room.

“These fucking animals can’t even close a door,” said Chester. _It can’t wait_ thinks the man. The condescending aristocratic laugh cackles in the vestibule.

“End of the world seriousness one minute, complaining about open doors the next. Boys really are fickle, silly little creatures,” said the imitation.

“I wish you would treat your safety more seriously. Why don’t we sacrifice her today, Baker’s never going to know,” said Chester.

“I said Friday, it’s going to be Friday,” said the Fake.

“You’re a prisoner in your own house. You spend all night barricaded in the den while everyone goes mad trying to get in,” said Chester.

“Are you saying I’m not in control,” said the imitation. Chester’s mind clouds over with fear. Pain shoots through it.

“I’m saying,” spit out the boy through the pain, “the dogs are hungry and might not wait until Friday.” The pair walks by my open door. Chester shuts the front door then they disappear into the living room.

~~~~~~~~~

Dale stares into my eyes drowning in ecstasy. It groans, heaves and almost falls off the table. Dale’s mind has completely rotted away, soil in my hands. Ready to obey anything I tell it without question.

“I think its time for you to meet my family,” I said to Dale.

“Uh Huh,” it said through an ear to ear smile.

“Tomorrow, I want you to come to a party. Bring your sister and her friends. Don’t tell them where you’re going, don’t mention me at all. Once you get there, send them in ahead of you and meet me outside. Do you understand,” I asked the imbecile.

Dale nods its consent.


	12. Fireballs

The bricks click slowly this morning. Only one mind carries through the door. Chester thinks about killing the imitation, hands wrapped around its throat, its eyes staring up in anguished pleading until everything goes slack. Chester thinks of stabbing me, biting into my arm and tearing out flesh. The boy groans as it tries to shake the thoughts from its head and replace them with anything. It thinks of baseball then fucking the imitation’s corpse. A super hero movie then slitting the imitation’s throat and drinking its blood like a vampire. The red hot flames flare up as it tries to dampen the blaze.

The light blinds me as the man’s silhouette stands across the threshold. The hand trowel rests in my day’s outfit in case Chester should try something. The struggle to overcome the violent imagery consumers the man. It grabs my arm when I try to leave.

“Get dressed where I can see you,” said Chester.

“I need a shower,” I said, hoping to throw the trowel away on the walk.

“You can’t go back to the house right now, its not safe,” said Chester pushing me back into the cabin.

“Close the door then,” I said. _Another fucking bitch isn’t going to tell me what to do_ thought the boy.

“I didn’t wait to tell you just to close the door, get dressed where I can see you,” said the boy.

“You disgusting pervert,” I screamed throwing my clothes on the sleeping bag. “Why don’t you come in here and get a really close look. Oh, that's right you degenerates won’t even enter this rotten meat and shit filled oven that you expect me to live in.” I stand as tall as my diminutive body will allow, point at Chester and tilt my head back. “Give me my privacy or take a seat,” I said gesturing to the unraveling corpse. Chester smirks.

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to deal with this much longer, now get your fucking clothes and get dressed here, now,” said Chester. I try to prick it’s mind but fire burns me. The trowel falls out of the clothing folds into the diseased sleeping bag. Chester watches me undress like a dog watches a cat that wandersby. The pervert makes no attempt to hide its erection.

“You’re not going to do something to me, are you,” I asked naked and vulnerable. The boy just watches, taking too long to answer.

“No, Tomie would kill me,” the boy spit out. “Hurry up.” The door slams shut and I finish dressing in darkness. Chester watches me emerge into the light. It grabs my chin and moves my face around then brings my hand to eye level. “Jesus Christ how do you always get so dirty.”

I look into the cabin. “Are you seriously asking that question? Spend a night in there and see how clean you come out.” It throws my hand down and walks through the woods.

~~~~~~~~~

The man who’s 90% eyebrows stands at the blackboard holding papers. The phone vibrates in my pocket. “I’m here,” read the message from Military boy. I grab my backpack and head to the blackboard. _What’s she doing_ thinks the old man.

“Ms Kawakami please take your seat, the exam’s about to begin,” said the old man.

“Can I go to the bathroom,” I asked, ignoring its inane prattling.

“You may go after the exam,” said the man. _Spoiled brat I don’t care who your dad is_ thinks the old man.

“Listen here, eyebrows, if you don’t let me go then I’m going to take this test covered in blood and I doubt everyone wants to see or smell that,” I said to its horror and disgust.

“Just go,” said the flustered old man with a dismissive wave before handing out the tests. I head to the stairwell emergency door to take the path I cut to the mall. I call Military boy once I hit the tree line heading east.

“Where are you,” asked the boy.

“I just left the school, I’ll be there in 20 minutes. We only have a few hours before my sister notices I’m gone. Did you bring it?

“Yeah, I have it. It’s a real beaut too, C4 enclosed in a brief case filled with ball bearings attached to a remote detonator. All we have to do is set it, turn on the walkie talkie and push the call button then blammo, swiss cheese sister. Are you sure the den’s the best place to put it?”

“It’s as good as any, all we have to do is figure out a way to lure her there,” I said.

~~~~~~~~~

The house looks empty but I can feel minds whispering about it’s corridors as I peer around the garage. The military boy, the paragon of stealth, sticks its head feet into visibility.

“This is the great Walton estate? What a dump,” said the boy, facts about Baker rattling through its head.

“The estate was beautiful when I moved in, the fake Tomie destroyed it with her freeloading losers,” I said. _I_ _t looks empty to me_ thought military boy. The boy kneels, lays the brief case flat, and unbuckles the latches. Two bricks wrapped in lumpy duct tape sit in the box. Wires come off a walkie talking without a case attaching to wires from the bricks.

“C-4 attached to blasting caps running to a walkie talkie. It runs on a unique frequency, all we have to do is hit this button,” it removes a matching device from its pocket, “and it will cause a small electrical charge to the blasting caps, detonating the device. Click this button before you put the device under the sofa to arm the bomb.” The military boy hands me the briefcase.

I scan all available minds while walking to the den’s windows. No one notices me as I crouch under the broken windows. Baker sleeps with its head on the desk surface. It wheezes as its feeble mind barely lets out any signal. I place the suitcase on the den floor and crawl in the window, glass crunching under my feet. Baker stirs but doesn’t move. The suitcase thuds on the sofa’s mechanisms sticking halfway into the room.

Baker smells like rotten fish. Thoughts wheeze out of its mind. Baker’s breath carries a putrid, rotting smell past yellow decayed teeth. Shit stains cover its lower back, waist and thighs from the man’s bulging diaper. The smell intensifies as I crawl by it’s chair, sliding the brief case under it’s desk.

“Tomie, is that you,” coughs out the vegetable, “Tomie I’m hungry.”

“Go back to sleep,” I said. I try to enter its thoughts but find only decrepit, slimy sludge.

Military boy watches me from the garage corner, its mind hot with anticipation, aroused at the thoughts of explosion and fire.

“Did you remember to turn it on,” asked the boy as I joined it behind the garage.

“Yes. Of course,” I lied. “We need to get you out of here, if Tomie sees you our plan will never work. I know of some cabins whereyou can hide.”

~~~~~~~~~

The Bentley pulls down the driveway as the sun already begins its nightly descent. I expected the fake to be home sooner, it’s already closing in on 7pm. The imitation hops from the passenger seat while the vehicle’s rolling to a stop. It bounds up the stairs, and shimmies its way through a den window. The Bentley continues to the garage. The automatic garage door rumbles to life and the fire balls wandering the houses corridors stop. I pull out the walkie talkie as the fake approaches Baker. It leans in to Baker and I click the call button but nothing happens. The angry minds pour down the stairs and out of the kitchen to congregate in the vestibule. I pull the cell phone from my pocket.

“Hey what’s up,” said Dale.

“Are you almost here,” I asked the pervert.

“Yeah, we’ll be there in 10 minutes,” said Dale, garbage house music overpowering its voice.

“Is your sister and her friends with you,” I asked and the man grunted consent. “Remember, park at the driveway entrance and have them go into the house, you wait for me.”

“Ok,” said the man then I hang up. I cut into the woods and take a long loop to the overgrown path. The military boy sits in the roofless cabin next to my room, a sour look on its face.

“What the fuck is that smell,” said the military boy.

“You don’t want to know,” I said. “We have a problem, the bomb didn’t go off. We need to go fix it.”

“You didn’t turn on the fucking walkie talkie,” said military boy.

“Maybe you don’t know what you’re doing after all. Just a paramilitary tough guy wannabe,” I said. Anger wells up in its mind, images of a hand flying across my face. “You’re just a little, tiny boy playing pretend.” The hand comes fast, and hard turning my face with a crack. I hold the burning cheek, tears streaming down my face. The boy panics, shame and guilt racking its thoughts. “And now you beat harmless little girls.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” said the boy.

“You know what’s in that cabin. It’s my room, it’s where they make me sleep. Take a look,” I cry some more as the boy pulls open the door. It gags before throwing up in the high weeds. “They make me spend 12 hours a day in there. Rats chewing on my clothes while I sleep. I wake up some times with maggots crawling on my face.” More tears.

“I didn’t know, I want to help you really,” said the boy. The tears stop instantly.

“Good, I need you to come in exactly 15 minutes,” I said.

~~~~~~~~~

Three animals carryingpaper bags clinking with bottles stride out of the darkness from driveway entrance towards the house.

“Oh my God what is this place,” said the hyena. “Is this like some haunted house or something.”

“Yeah, totes creepy,” said the tall skinny blond with the big nose that looked like a stork. Ms. Piggy laughed, the fat rolls extending from its multiple chins to its eyes jiggles. The garage wall shields me from view as they approach the porch.

“Dale said to go right in,” said the hyena, stalling on the porch.

“Yeah,” said the stork before pulling its bangs behind its ears. The three women open the door, a group of boys in the vestibule watch them push in.

“Party,” shouted the pig. Silence returns its call.

“What the fuck is this, a cult? What are you doing here,” said the Hyena. The thought embers burst into flames. “Get your fucking hands off me. No, I said Stop.”The three girls scream. Rage, lust, violence, pour from the house like lava from a volcano. “No,” screamed the hyena followed by thudding up the stairs. Fireballs follow the screaming stork into the kitchen. The pig screams up the other staircase. A groan then thud thud thud, the pig must have fallen down the stairs. The pig screams up the stairs again. Fireballs breaks off to the left with the hyena, others break off to the right with the pig.

Dale walks down the driveway, whistling with its hands in its windbreaker pockets.

“Hey, I did good, didn’t I,” asked the man to the backdrop of screams. Dale falls on its knees, clutching my waist. I run my fingers through its hair. An image floats out of the kitchen fire, the stork stands with two boys holding its arms stretched out. The topless stork’s small chest exposed to a boy sharpening a knife with a metal pole. The man grabs a tit, the stork tries backing away but it can’t move. The boy slices into the breast’s top. Blood runs down from the hole asthe breast dislodges from its chest with a push of the knife.

“You did great my pet,” I said to the boy crying into my shirt with happiness. The military boy watches from an orange tree. The screaming from the hyena’s room stops.

“What the hell is all that screaming,” said military boy. A vision from the second floor comes to me: the naked pig tied to a headboard cowers. A naked boy jumps on top of it, wrapping its hands around the pig’s throat. The pig bucks and kicks trying to throw the boy off but it bangs the pig’s face on floor, a gash tears over its eyebrow. Another naked man pushes the first boy off, its erect penis covered in blood. The pig gasps and spits out blood,

“A diversion, we have to hurry,” I said to military boy. “You wait here and I’ll go make sure its safe. You stay my pet.” I run my fingers through its hair.

“I’ll miss you,” it said letting go of my waist before sitting. The burning thoughts intensify as I walk closer to the house. It’s like jumping into a lava pool and swimming to a structure on the bottom. The thoughts mix together, incoherent. I can only make out individual minds if I concentrate. The overwhelming noise should shield military boy from detection. The vestibule’s empty, screams echo through the halls, amplified by the voluminous house. Ablood streak runs up the right stairs. The kitchen door swings open, the fake and Chester walk out. A blood film so dense it looks like red rubber gloves covers the fake’s hands. Blood and shit streaks run down it’s tan cardigan. The pair ascend the stairs and turn down the left hallway when they reach the top.

I wave the military boy to come. A clearer vision, not hindered by as much fire, comes from Chester’s mind. The hyena stands with its wrists tied to the four poster bed’s top rail, its ankles tied to the front legs. The hyena’s naked, covered in welts, some leaking red fluid. A ball gag chokes it. It whimpers as the fake approaches, then leaves red streaks caressing its face. The fake undoes the strap behind the hyena’s head and hands the gag to Chester. The hyena spits in the imitation’s face. The imitation smiles, running its tongue around its mouth, cleaning up the spit. The fake points to a naked boy by the bed who hands it pliers and a knife. The naked boy holds the hyena’s head in place as the imitation grabs its lower lip with the pliers then cuts it off. It repeats for the upper lip. The hyena’s exposed teeth sit surrounded by red raw flesh leaking red fluid down perfectly white teeth. The pliers connect with teeth, they crack as white bits fly. The pliers connect again, sending large chunks flying.

“Let’s go,” said the military boy, breaking me from the vision. The burning minds suffocate me when we enter the house. I stagger under thier weight but the military boy drags me to the den by my wrist. Baker sleeps at its desk despite the screaming. “Go get it, hurry.”

“Is it dinner time yet, Tomie,” said Baker when we approach the desk. I remove the suitcase and hand it to military boy. With two clicks the top pops open again. I probe the fire lake, looking for Chester. _Stay upstairs_ I implant in it’s mind.

“I knew it, you never turned it on” said the military boy, flicking a switch.

“I did too, I turned that dial all the way up,” I said, pointing at the volume.

“You idiot, that’s just the volume,” it said handing me the suit case again. I shove it under the desk by Baker and probe for Chester again, it’s no longer upstairs.

We exit into the empty vestibule, the door clicks behind us. The front door opens and the imitation walks in with Chester. Blood covers every inch of its exposed skin. Blood, shit, and throw up drench its tan cardigan. The imitation grins with sadistic glee. The boy fades away from the monster towards the den door but I throw my arms around its waist, pinning it, we thud into the wall as the frustrated boy grasps for the handle unable to move its arms.

“So you’re the one responsible for this. And look here you even brought me a gift,” said the imitation.

“No, you can’t its mine. Stay away,” I said to the fake. The imitation holds its hand to its chest and lets out an aristocratic laughs. Chester lungs, tackling military boy and me to the ground. The imitation grabs my arm, lifting me off him then pulls me to the door.

“You did well feeding the dogs tonight so you get to live but a stupid little echo like you doesn’t tell me what to do,” said the imitation before throwing me onto the porch. The door closes and locks behind me. I bang on the door with both fists.

“He’s mine,” I scream into the wood as Chester drags military boy into the den.

“We have to get out of here, there’s ,” yelled the military boy before Chester slams its head into the desk. “A bo…” it couldn’t get the word out as the ball gag enters its mouth.

“You’re so pathetic, with your stupid little tricks. You’ve been a bad boy Wallace, not loving me like the rest. Some men just need to be broken first,” said the imitation. Military boy turns towards me. The imitation grabs the fatigue’s waistband and pulls them down to its ankles. “Oh, do you think that pathetic thing is going to save you? That little pervert watching by the window, probably touching itself. We aren’t going to kill you my pet, don’t worry. You need some training and you’ll be a good boy too.” The imitation undoes Chester’s belt then the button and zipper of its khakis.

_Come to me my pet_ I implant in Dale’s feeble mind. The zombie gets to its feet and walks towards me.

Military boy screams into the gag as Chester lines its hips up with his. Its muffled screams intensify as Chester pistons its hips back and forth. The fake sits on Baker’s desk, watching the rape.

_Go into the house my pet_ I implant as Dale reaches the stairs for the porch. The imitation sits up quickly, looking at me.

“Someone’s here,” said the fake.

I push the call button on the walkie talkie as Dale enters the home.The boom eclipses the screaming. The explosion’s ferocity shakes the house. The desk blows into a million tiny wood shards. Military boy’s body turns into mist as it’s arm flies towards the window. Rib bones lodge into the ceiling, flesh chunks scatter all over the room. Chester flies backwards into the wall perforated by quarter sized red holes. The imitation’s arms and legs detach from center mass, flying in blood torrents into the ceiling. Baker disappears entirely behind the vortex of flying limbs and fluids. In a moment the screaming returns from the void. The area that was the desk now an indescribable pile of meat chunks, bones and limbs, a red crater in the house’s floor. The men in the house, so consumed by their lust for violence and murder, continue on with their wicked deeds.

_Go into the closet my pet_ I implant in it’s mind. Dale walks into the closet under the right staircase. _Open the red container._ Dale unscrews the five gallon metal can’s lid. _Pour it all over yourself_. Dale holds the can over it’s head, the pungent yellow liquid pours all over it and the floor. _Pick up the matches and sit on the floor_. The man grabs a box of matches from the pile and sits with its legs crossed on the floor. _Worship your goddess and light a match_.

“I love you Tomie,” shouted the man before striking a match. The man lights on fire instantly, the floor around it flares up. The fire spreads to the charcoal bags. The metal can bursts with a pop. Then a series of pops like a string of firecrackers. A fire river pours from the closet, connecting with the door across the hall, seeping into the other closet. I run from the house, past the cal-de-sac to the orange trees. Another pop, and another. A propane tank goes off with a massive boom. Black smoke billows from the vestibule windows. The red minds of Tomie’s followers don’t move from their work as fire takes over the mansion. The fireballs snuff out as the screaming stops.

~~~~~~~~~

First the fire trucks came, bottle necked down the narrow drive way. I watched from the dark tree line as men frantically tried to end the raging inferno before giving up and just watching the building burn to a soldering ash pile. I watched as crews pulled bodies out of the rubble. Helicopters buzzed around the sky, a pen of people talked with cameras pointing at them. The police chief stood at a podium, addressing the crowd. I waited just off on the edges for the crews to dwindle, the press to leave and eventually for the solitary, spread around pile of fire licked debris to sit alone in it’s foundation.

~~~~~~~~~

A black police car pulls into the cal-de-sac. The tall, fat Sargent exits the drivers seat, Rin in a black and white striped short sleeved polo and khakis with her hair pulled under a headband exits the front seat. Rin stands at the cal-de-sac’s end where the porch met the concrete and stares into the rubble pile before breaking into tears.

“We found a total of 28 dead,” said the Sargent as I come around the garage side towards the pair. “Most of whom were unknown males in their late teens and early twenties.” I connect with Rin’s side burying my face into its chest.

“Mommy,” I said, tears come from my eyes on command as the woman bursts into louder cries.

“Tomie, you’re alive,” said the Sargent.

“My god, your face is filthy,” said Rin. It took a step back to regard the rest of my outfit. The red silk pajama pants covered in holes, rat poop and urine stains. A black T-shirt caked in mud. “Baby, what did they do to you? I’m so sorry I left you here.” Fresh tears run down its face.

“What happened here,” said the Sargent. I wipe away the tears from my filth stained face.

“I don’t know, I left school early with Wallace, he took me home, I was going to run away but they caught me and locked me in my room. I heard explosions and sirens and people but I couldn’t get out. By the time I was able to dig out, everyone was gone,” I said.

“What do you mean your room, honey,” said Rin.

“After you left that girl made me move into one of the cabins in the woods,” I said to a horrified reaction.

“My God, I never should have left you,” said the woman with fresh tears. She’s going to dehydrate at this rate.

“I’ll show you,” I said grabbing its hand and dragging it around the debris pile. The Sargent follows to the overgrown path. We navigate the almost unusable path to the field cabins. A cinder block pile blocks the cabin door.

“My god, that smell,” said Rin, disgust washing over its face. The Sargent unpiles the bricks. I help him while Rin stands in a horrified stupor. The Sargent opens the door with the last brick removed. Rin shrieks when a rat darts out into the woods. The overpowering stench of decay bellows from the open door. Rin gags, the Sargent covers its mouth. The rat chewed face of the melted flesh puddle that used to be the governess grins at them from its chair. The broken thigh bone I used to dig the hole for burying the shovel and cell phone sits strategically in the entrance. “My baby, I can’t believe I left you to this,”said Rin.

“I love you mommy,” I said, burying my face into her once again.

~Epilogue~

Music from the school orchestra drifts in through the bathroom door. I apply lipstick with the aid of the over sized mirror. It’s times like this I can see the family resemblance between myself and the imitation from six years ago. It was nothing but a copy, a fake that couldn’t even capture a 10th of my beauty. If its beauty was a star in the sky then mine is the sun.

The red gown’s awkward to move in. My long black hair frames my perfectly symmetrical face except for the beauty mark under my left eye. I practice my broad, glistening smile and wave with royal grace. I carefully lift a sash over my head, and slid a crystal tiara into my hairline.

A middle aged woman in a pant suit with thick rimmed glasses over its eye enters the bathroom. “It’s time, Tomie,” said the woman. I lift my gown bottom and exit as the principal helps me with the door. Rin enrolled me into a normal middle school at a normal grade when I moved to Nashville. I bid my time and honed my skills like a good girl.

“This year’s homecoming Queen, Tomie Kawakami,” announced the class president over a microphone. The gym double doors parted as I walked into the roaring applause. Shouts of “Tomie” ring through out the gym, deep masculine shouts of “Goddess” reverberate from the crowd. I send a wave of pleasure through the crowd and some men start bowing.

“Tomie, Tomie, Tomie,” chanted the room. The crowds thoughts are much more manageable when they all think the same thing.


End file.
